


Switched

by Bogenieanrhapsody, Soletta



Series: Femme Cas Destiel [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Poor Sammy puts up with so much crap, angel!dean, femme!Castiel, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 25,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5243927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bogenieanrhapsody/pseuds/Bogenieanrhapsody, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soletta/pseuds/Soletta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cas is weakened after casting a spell, someone takes her grace and puts it somewhere unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Latin's What They Come In

Sam and Bobby looked up from their poker game to the ceiling, above which the stomping and yelling of Dean and Castiel arguing could be heard. They anted up as the row made its way across the landing to the stairs, where the subject of contention could finally be made out.

“I understand the importance of knowing exorcisms by rote, Dean, I just don't understand why it has to be the Latin one!” There was a pause. “I hate Latin. They condemned Christ in Latin.”

“Well, tough, Cas, because Latin is what they come in!”

They'd reached the kitchen now, and Sam and Bobby were witness to the truly impressive side-eye that Cas shot Dean.

“You are aware that Demons predate the Roman Empire, Dean,”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“No, Cas, I'm a complete frickin idiot. Of course I know that, but exorcisms are written in Latin!”

Cas slapped a hand against the wall in frustration, rattling the kitchen fixtures.

“They're also written in Sumerian, Hebrew, Babylonian and Mesopotamian.” She growled. “Why can't I use those?”

There was a longer pause. This hadn't occurred to any of the men in the room. Ignoring the fact that he was addressing an angry Angel, Bobby asked:

“You speak Sumerian?” And received a disgusted look worthy of a teenage girl faced with out of date fashion.

“Of course I speak Sumerian. Who doesn't speak Sumerian?”

Sam and Dean looked at each other and offered in unison

“Everyone?”

Cas glared at first one brother and then the other.

“Tell me you at least know one exorcism each in Hebrew.”

The response she received was embarrassed silence and a quiet

“Uhhhh…” from Dean.

She turned quietly on her heels to face Bobby, who was starting to look concerned.

“You never taught your sons exorcisms in the basic ancient languages?” She demanded, voice starting edge towards the apocalyptic. Without giving anyone a chance to respond she pushed on. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the hell kind of education did you give them? This is basic self defence!”

“I never found any,” he mumbled, shrinking in shame and the face of her anger, which shifted to surprise. “Where did you find them?” He asked, professional interest rising. She looked at him like he'd offered her ink flavoured tea.

“Sumeria, Babylon, Mesopotamia and Canaan,” she said, as though it were the most obvious answer ever. Bobby blinked.

“Of course you did.”

She glared a little longer.

“Stop gambling, it's a vice. And find something to take notes on.”

Bobby grinned. Languages had always been friends to him. Starting with French to impress the girls as a teenager, he'd found they fell into place, clicking together like engine parts. It had never occurred to him that Castiel would speak languages there was no documentation of. Gathering up the paper scraps with chores written on them that had taken the place of chips, he looked enquiringly at Sam, who shrugged.

“Sure,” he said, shuffling the cards back into a whole deck. “Why not? I'm in.”

“Well!” Exclaimed Dean, overly jovial, clapping his hands together once. “Since the nerds have this covered, I'm gonna go and wash the ‘Pala…”

He went to walk out the door, and nearly jerked his arm out of his socket. He sighed, and turned back to Cas, who had a grip on his wrist that looked tame enough but felt like an iron shackle.

“For exactly the same reasons you gave me, Dean,” she said. “You will learn at least one exorcism in each of those languages.” 

She didn't voice this as a request or a command, but as a statement, as something irrefutable that would happen no matter what. Nevertheless, he was determined to go down fighting.

“Uh, no I won't. Latin took long enough and works just fine, thanks.”

Gently but inexorably, she pulled him back towards the table. He didn't see the annoyance in her eyes until it as too late.

“Sit. DOWN.” She hissed, her voice hitting him like the kind of wave that sinks ocean liners.

His knees agreed before he did and he abruptly sat on the nearest kitchen chair.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling insincerely. 

“Damnit, Cas,” he protested, giving up on fighting it and hunching sulkily over he pad of paper that Bobby shoved towards him.


	2. Not Good At This Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas tries a new tactic to help Dean learn the exorcisms.

Hours later, Dean was about ready to commit murder. He hadn't been able to get past the basic pronunciations of each language and the more belligerent and impatient he'd gotten, the calmer and more infuriatingly patient Cas had become. To add insult to injury, Bobby had learned the four chosen passages in under an hour and had taken up coaching Sam, who then had them down in under three. He slumped forward, letting his head hit the table. Under his face, a doodle of a stick man ganking a stick Angel smudged a little.

He heard the other three voices conversing quietly, and then the door open and shut. Somewhere outside, Bobby’s truck started. He looked up slightly as Cas’s hands appeared on the table.

“I was going to ask Sam to teach you, but he tells me that during your Latin lessons you threatened to 'stab him in the face'," she said. “So I sent them to a bar to watch whatever sports is on the television.”

Honestly, the only sport Dean gave half a damn about watching was Beach Volleyball but right now he'd have gladly taken even soccer over this torture. He raised his head enough to glare at her.

“That was one of the weaker threats I used, too,” he snarled. “I am not good at this stuff.” He sounded angry, but he felt stupid. 

She half smiled at him.

“You will learn, though,” she said. Again, she phrased it as a statement she had complete confidence in. He had a horrible feeling he was going to let her down. “Go and find somewhere more comfortable to sit while we continue. I'll be with you in a moment.” 

Stretching as he stood, he rebelliously abandoned the note paper and the book Cas had helpfully written the texts in for Bobby’s future reference. He wondered through to the lounge and sprawled onto the sofa, rubbing his eyes. When he stopped, Cas was stood over him, hands full. Onto the coffee table she put a large bag of m and ms, a bottle of Jack and a shot glass. Dean eyed them hungrily. Pointedly, she waved the book at him before placing that down too.

“From now on,” she told him, “for every line you recite correctly you will get confectionery.”

Dean almost smiled. That seemed a little better.

“For every three lines,” she continued, “you will get liquor.”

This time he actually smiled. Much better.

“For every mistake,” she warned him, “I will hit you. Hard.”

The smile vanished.

“Wait, what?”

Before he could protest about the lack of justice in such an exercise, she cut him off and if he didn't know better, he'd swear there was just a tiny bit of nervousness hovering under her calm voice.

“For every full exorcism you recite with no prompts or hints,” here she paused and looked at him as though coming to a decision. “You get one item of my clothing. Your choice. Garters and stockings are separate garments.”

The protest died in his throat and he stared at her, wide eyed. Two thoughts ran parallel:

_Is she kidding? She actually looks pretty serious!_

_Dude, do not, I repeat, DO NOT haggle over what counts together with what. Four exorcisms is shirt, skirt, panties and bra. DO NOT FUCK THESE BITCH EXORCISMS UP._

He smiled at her, and noticed just the tiniest bit of relief.

“Gimme the damn book!”


	3. Sumerian's A Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby and Sam return, catching Dean and Cas by surprise.

Somewhere around midnight, Cas handed over her panties, holding them out with a shrug that said “fair enough, you earned them.” Dean grinned back at her. 

“You nearly had me that time,” he said, taking them like a trophy. “Sumerian’s a bitch.”

Neither of them believed that. With every m and m and every shot, Dean's confidence had grown until he was naming clothing before starting the recitation. She turned, looking for the rest of her clothes. He watched the firelight glow spread across her naked skin, shadows forming at every curve. 

“You'll have to come through me to get it all back,” he said, his voice low, a mock threat with a satisfied smirk. She turned to face him.

“Not a problem,” she said, taking a step towards him.

The front door banged open, admitting a draft and a beer stained baseball argument. Suddenly panicked, Cas and Dean stared at each other wide eyed for a moment before he threw her shirt and skirt and bra at her as she ducked behind the furniture. Hastily, he shoved her panties into his pocket and all but ran to the kitchen to stop the advance.

“Check it, bitches!” He crowed, brandishing a shot glass. “Four exorcisms!”

“What the hell is that?” Demanded Bobby, as he and Sam stopped bickering and stared at Dean.

_Oh shit! Did they see her? Act dumb!_

"This,” he said, waving the glass again, “is liquid motivation, old man!” 

"And the damn great bruise on your idgit face?” 

_Oh thank God and any mook you wanna name._

Dean grimaced. He'd forgotten about that. 

"That's what happens you make a mistake in an exorcism a pissed Angel thinks you need to learn.” 

Bobby laughed, and smacked him on the arm, accidentally finding a bruise from another pronunciation mistake. 

"Where's Cas?” Asked Sam. “Her knuckles must be fu…” 

"Don't be mean spirited, Sam,” said a fully clothed Cas from behind Dean, who relaxed a little. 

“Yeah, Sammy!” 

“Shut up, Dean!” 

Cas and Bobby rolled their eyes, and Cas flexed her shoulders. 

"Sleep in fear gentlemen, there will be exams tomorrow,” she said before disappearing with a rustle. 

Trying not to stare at where she'd been, and trying to keep his hand out of his pocket, Dean kept his mind on needling Sam. 


	4. My Star Pupil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas makes sure her lessons stuck.

Dean awoke to find Bobby’s face inches from his own, and jumped out of his skin.

“Jesus, Bobby!”

“Your ‘liquid motivation’,” the older man growled. “Where did you get it?”

“Cas gave it to me, jeez, you wanna back up a bit?” 

“Where did she get it?” The growl continued, Bobby’s face not moving.

“I dunno, the kitchen? It's just a bottle of Jack, Bobby, I'll buy you another one!”

The face retreated slowly.

“Are you sure it was just Jack?”

Dean stared at him.

“Yes, I'm sure, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Bobby calmed down a little 

“I'm missing a very rare and very good bottle of scotch. If I find your hand in that mess I will cut it the hell off.”

“Can I get dressed first?”

Bobby grunted in assent and turned to leave the room, nearly walking into Sam.

“You guys seen my watch?”

They shook their heads.

“Huh.” Sam shrugged and jogged down the stairs, Bobby following at a slower pace.

Dean started to dress at a leisurely pace, then sped up at the sound of Bobby's raised voice from downstairs. Pulling his t shirt on as he ran down the stairs, he followed the yelling into the study. Cas was leaning on the wall next to the fireplace, holding what could only be Bobby’s missing whiskey over the fire.

“I didn't say that, Bobby,” she was saying, calmly. “What I did say was that there would be an exam today. You can have it back as soon as you recite a Babylonian exorcism for me.”

“And if I don't?” 

“I won't believe you can.” This sentence seemed to hold a great deal more threat than just the words implied.

Bobby glared at her, then spat the exorcism out as though hoping it would work on her. Smiling, she handed back the bottle. He took it from her as though rescuing a baby.

“Hey!” Exclaimed Sam, pointing at her extended wrist. “My watch!”

She picked up the heaviest book on Bobby’s desk.

“A Hebrew exorcism, Sam, or I'll smash it,” she said lightly, unbuckling it and placing it on the desk.

“I got that from Jess!” He protested, making a plea that fell on deaf ears.

She hefted the book.

“Uh, wait! Uh…”

Hastily, he blurted out the exorcism. She put the book down and handed the watch back to him. He put it on, relieved, and glanced at Dean, who'd been trying to edge out of the room.

“Your accent is much improved, keep it up. And now,” she said, turning to skewer Dean with her gaze. “My star pupil.”

Dean stared at her warily. From her pocket, she drew a cassette tape.

“Don't you dare,” he rasped. She turned it in her hand and read the label.

“This says ‘Metallica Live 1993’,”

Dean nearly choked. He started forward, then stopped himself in case she did something rash.

“No! Cas, no! Do you know how long it took to convince Dad to let me go to that concert?”

She bent down and placed the tape carefully on the floor. As delicate as a ballerina, her foot circled it, stopping with its four inch heel just above the plastic.

“Sumerian, please,” she said.

“C’mon, Cas,” he moaned, knowing it was no good. Her foot didn't move.

“Your Sumerian exorcism, please,”

Throwing a desperate look at Bobby and Sam and finding no sympathy, he closed his eyes so he wouldn't see the tape die and gave the passage his best shot. There was a silence, long enough for him to cautiously open his eyes. She was staring at him, impressed.

“Very good!” She picked the tape up and held it out to him. He snatched it and checked it over, looking for damage and finding none. The room seemed to breathe again.

“That was cruel!” He admonished her, cradling the tape. She smiled.

“You're actually quite clever, Dean,” she said, making him blush. “You just need to be…motivated.” She glanced at his pocket, from which a tiny slip of black lace was hanging, and winked. Hiding a smirk, Dean casually put the tape in his pocket, taking the lace with it.


	5. The Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean find out that the others have been making bets on them.

Dean was bored. There were no strange deaths, no weird occurrences, nothing that warranted weapons. He'd washed and detailed the Impala, twice, and had resorted to sitting in the car, listening to very loud music. He looked around as Cas opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. He turned the music down.

“Were you aware of this?” She asked, holding up a small notebook. He didn't recognise it, but he could see Bobby's handwriting on the front.

“What is it?” He asked. She gave him a pained look.

“It would appear that Sam, Bobby and Crowley have been holding bets on when we’ll engage in various romantic activities.”

He thumped his head gently back against the headrest.

“Of course they have.” He sighed. “Crowley? Really?”

He started the engine, thinking that maybe going for a drive would combat both the boredom and the sudden urge to start smacking heads together.

“Apparently so,” she replied, putting her seatbelt on and then thumbing through the pages. “If we were to make love this afternoon, Sam would win.”

Braking just a little harder than necessary at the end of Bobby's driveway, Dean glanced at her before pulling on to the road.

“So…did anyone make anything off of last night?”

“Strangely, nudity as a motivational teaching method is not a bet they've placed,” she smiled. He grinned back. “Besides, they have to know about it to win.”

“Well, I don't see why we would share,” he said, pointedly. Just in case this was one of those human things she didn't get.

“Oh, of course not,” she replied offhandedly, to his relief. “But if they're going to pry…” She paused as something on a page caught her eye and she brought the book up to practically touch her nose. She gasped indignantly and slammed the book back down on her lap. “You demonic son of a…” She poured out a stream of swear words impressive even to Dean. Pulling up at a stop sign, he looked at her. She stared back.

“We need a motel room.” She informed him. “And dried liquorice.”

“Okay then,” he said, indicating and pulling past the sign. He shot her a quick glance. He could practically hear her thinking “thank God he didn't ask why”, so he kept quiet and kept his eyes on the road until she added.

“Oh. And a desiccated eyeball. Species is irrelevant.”

“Should I be worried here, Cas?” He asked.

“It's just for a spell,” she replied, cagily.

_oh,you wanna play?_ He thought. _You think I can't aggravate an answer out of you? I had the name of every one of Sammy’s dates in under ten minutes._

He shrugged casually. 

“Kinky,” he said, smirking internally as he felt her bristle with rage.

“Not as kinky as the one already on here,” she muttered, barely audible over the music.

“What was that, Cas?” He asked cheerfully, swinging into the highway.

“Nothing!” She said, far too quickly. He dug deep for his best stern older brother voice.

“Cas?”

She sighed, defeated.

_Yeah, I thought so_

“They've put a spell on the book.” She told him reluctantly.

Dean's expression didn't change as he mentally punched three faces. Then his brain fully caught up.

“Well,” he said, grimacing as his knuckles tightened on the wheel. “If you're gonna place bets, you've gotta know who won.”

“It's most likely that Crowley performed the spell, and the one of this nature he'd know best would be one that…” She trailed off and mumbled the end of the sentence. Dean was done Playing games for answers.

“Cas,” he snapped. “Just say it, will ya?” 

“You're not going to like it,” she warned.

“A demon, a crotchety old man and my brother are betting on my sex life. I already don't like it.” He growled. She sighed, and resolutely looking straight ahead and not at him said:

“The spell will give each better a short vision to avoid any and all contention over proof and winnings.”

Dean fought the instinct to slam the brakes on, turn around and go commit aggravated assault.

“Now that's just wrong and if Sammy or Bobby knew about it I am gonna kick their asses!”

“I should be able to trigger it and send false visions,” she said. “But I need to do the eyeball spell and that is, as you would say, going to knock me on my ass.”

“Can't we just break the spell?” He asked, frustrated, as he took the exit for the next town.

“No,” she said, sulkily. “As much as I hate to say this, Crowley is much better at Magic than I am.”

“So we want a butchers, then. Will they even sell desiccated eyeballs?”

“Oh, I can do the desiccation,” she said grimly. “I'm just disappointed that we can't carve out Crowley’s stupid eyes and use those.”

Dean half laughed.

“You and me both.”

There was a short silence.

“Please don't leave me alone after the spell.”

He glanced at her, expecting concern but seeing real fear.

“You said it’s gonna knock you out, right?” He asked, hoping she hadn't meant anything worse. She shuddered.

“It's going to knock me human. For several hours.”

“Oh, cool,” he blurted in relief, making her gape. “I can make you sit still long enough to continue your movie education.” He felt her stare gimlet into him.

“A lot of my power that you see as extraneous is what I was born with, Dean. Imagine being knocked blind for several hours!” 

Dean relented a little.

“Remind me to tell you about some if the hexes we've been hit with sometime.” He said, not unkindly. “You'll be fine, Cas.”


	6. I'm Not Bad...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean break the spell on the book and pick up where their lessons left off.

Standing over a sigil on the floor, Cas lit what Dean could only describe as a cigar made of the spell ingredients, muttering incantations. Slowly waving the weird smelling spell-stogie in strange patterns in the air, she inhaled deeply, the smoke channeling itself up her nose.

_Oh no, that's not creepy at all._

Thought Dean.

As the last of the smoke disappeared, and the end of the cigar burned to ash in her hand, Cas suddenly stiffened, her eyes rolling up into her head and her chin snapping backwards. Gradually she began to shake. The shaking got worse and she started keening, quietly, but getting louder. Just as Dean was about to barge in to try and wake her, she exhaled suddenly, wisps of smoke escaping, eyes open normally, head forward again, and stopped shaking. Then she slumped, falling backwards. Dean lunged forward and caught her before she hit the floor. He was alarmed to see blood trickling from her nose.

“Cas?” He half yelled, trying not to shake her. “Hey, Cas!”

She opened an eye and managed “ouch”.

“Ouch?!” He demanded, incredulous. “You said you'd be weak, not bleeding!”

Her heels skittered on the hardwood floor as she tried to stand.

“It's just a nosebleed, Dean, it means I’m human.” Was it him, or was her voice…higher? Girlier?

“That doesn't mean I have to like it,” he told her, lifting her and sitting her on the bed. He knelt in front of her to unbuckle and remove her shoes. “So how long you gonna be a puny human?” He quipped. Her answer was to groan and pinch her nose to stop the bleeding, leaning forward to keep the blood out of her throat. Completely misjudging the distance between them, she ended up head butting Dean in the face.

“Jesus!” He reeled back, hands clapped over his nose. She whimpered.

“I'm sorry!” She exclaimed, blood still dripping over her fingers. “Are you badly hurt?”

“I'm fine,” he sighed. “I've had worse. You have a hard head.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled again. “I told you I'd lose all the Angel stuff.”

“I didn't think the Grace part was literal!” Said Dean.

“It comes with the strength,” she explained. “I think I need to take a minute to adjust.”

“Yeah, you do that,” said Dean, finding the remote and sitting next to her on the bed. Using him as a prop, she stood, legs shaking.

“I feel like a damn foal,” she whined, and grimaced. “And my voice is too high.” 

Carefully, she shuffled towards the bathroom, managing to knock into only one item of furniture.

“Guess that whole 'I ate gravel fear me' voice is angel of the lord stuff too,” muttered Dean to himself as the tap in the bathroom started. He flicked through the channels and found that Raiders of the Lost Arc was showing. Grinning, he turned the volume up and tossed the remote aside. “Better?” He asked Cas as she reappeared, nose free of blood.

“Yes,” she replied. “But I don't want to go out in public this…this…” She gestured irritatedly at herself.

“Human?” Dean suggested.

“Yes.”

“Well, come act like a human anyway,” he said, shuffling over to make room for them to sit side by side. “Veg out and watch TV.” 

She considered this, then shrugged. She took a bottle of water from the room’s fridge and walked over, trying and failing to open the bottle.

“This is broken,” she frowned. Dean hid a grin, badly.

“Give it here,” he said, reaching for it. Still frowning she handed it over. Dean cracked the seal and held it out to her. She stared at it like it had personally offended her. Then at him in much the same manner. And then at the bottle again.

“You're stronger than me?” She choked out, livid.

“What, now that you’re not cheating?” Said Dean and shrugged. “Yeah, probably.”

She stood rigid, staring at him, fists clenched by her sides, looking very much like she was trying not to throw a truly epic temper tantrum. He sighed.

“Cas, just sit down and watch the movie. Its only temporary, then you can go back to being all powerful and able to kick my ass again.”

Still seemingly at a loss for words, she sank abruptly and huffily onto the bed next to him. He tried not to laugh. She caught the smile and softened enough to smile back. He turned back to the movie, excessively aware that she was next to him.

“Who is the man,” she asked suddenly, “who plays the man in the hat?”

Dean processed this.

“Harrison Ford,” he replied. “Why?”

“He reminds me of you.”

“Really?” Dean grinned. “Because I'm devilishly handsome or because I'm a total badass?”

Without taking her eyes off the screen, she shrugged.

“He is definitely a man with someone else’s underwear in his pocket.”

This surprised Dean so much he burst out laughing.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing at her but looking back at the screen. “About that…”

“What about that?” She asked, aiming for sounding distracted but ending up somewhere around nervously excited.

“Well…” And why the hell was he nervous? “We kinda got interrupted.”

“I suppose we did.” 

He side eyed her, for some reason determined to make her say it first.

“Did you want it to stay interrupted?”

She shifted, ever so slightly, so their legs were just barely touching. Just enough for it to be an answer.

“Why?” She asked lightly. “Did you want my clothes back?”

Dean turned to smile at her, loving the way she blushed.

“Well, I won them fair and square,” he said, the smile dropping into a smirk.

“You won them _then_ ," she teased. “You'll have to win them back.” 

“Really?” He asked, leaning towards her slightly. “That doesn't seem fair.”

Looking up at him through her lashes, her blue eyes met his green, the tiniest smile playing over her lips as she added:

“Unless you think you can take them back.” 

He leaned a little closer. She leaned towards him. Suddenly, he grabbed her, spinning her so her back was against his chest and pinning her arms to her side.

“You know,” he murmured in her in her ear. “I think I can.”

“I didn't think that through, did I?” 

Dean wasn't buying it.

“You're not exactly struggling,” he pointed out, undoing her buttons.

“You're stronger than me,” she said. He slid the shirt off her shoulders.

“Hey, you said it without choking! Good for you!”

He had to release her arms to get them through the sleeves and she turned to face him, reaching for his shirt. He batted her hands away.

“Hey, if I had to earn yours, you have to earn mine!” He admonished, sliding his hands around her to undo first her bra, then her skirt.

“How?” She shrugged her shoulders forward, letting the bra straps slide forward down her arms before flicking it to the floor to land on the shirt.

Distracted by the view, Dean didn't answer until she coughed pointedly. The slightly amused look her on face jolted him back to the conversation. He blurted the first thing that came into his head.

“Movie quotes!”

The look on her face went from amusement to surprise.

“One correct quote from a movie of your choice will earn you one item of my clothing,” he said, standing and holding out a hand to her. She took it and stood, brow furrowed in deep concentration. He stood over her and gently slid her skirt over her hips, letting it drop to the floor. Still thinking, she stepped out of it, then looked up him. He tried to look stern.

“Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi,” she said. “You're my only hope!”

His face dissolved into a helpless smile as he remembered the look on her face as he'd glanced at her in the cinema. He removed his over shirt.

“Good start,” he said. She stepped close again, chest against his, and leaned up to kiss him. Just as he was considering abandoning this game, she pulled away.

“A kiss can be even deadlier, if you mean it,” she whispered.

Heart beating fast, he pulled his t shirt over his head.

“You're into Batman?” He asked. In a confidential murmur she replied:

“Well, I'm more 'into' Catwoman, but I enjoyed the films, yes.”

Dean closed his eyes.

“God, that's hot,” he managed as he fingers traced down his chest to his belt buckle. He pulled it together enough to trap her hands with his. “Rules, Cas!” 

He heard her laugh quietly, and opened his eyes. Smirking, she slowly rose to her tiptoes so they were eye to eye. Leaning forward, her lips ghosted over his, brushed his cheek and settled against his ear, her hands still on his belt. Low and husky, she whispered in his ear.

“I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way…” 

If either of them had really had any self control left, it was abandoned now. His hands left hers to undo his belt and slid one into the curve of her back, one to the back of her neck and pulled her deeper into a kiss. Still on her tiptoes, she over balanced into him, crashing them both down onto the bed.


	7. Calm Is Very Important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas wake to find things very wrong.

Castiel woke around dawn, thrown from nightmares with a start. Everything seemed disconcertingly quiet. No angelic senses. Perhaps the spell had longer reaching after effects than she'd thought. Next to her Dean shifted in his sleep, distracting her. Propping herself up on one elbow, she smiled as she gently pushed an errant hair away from his eyes.

A drop of blood landed on his face and a frown twitched across his still sleeping face. Warily, she touched her fingers to her nose, bringing them away bloody. Slowly sitting up, she closed her eyes, focusing the useless human senses, and opened them again, really looking at Dean. She gasped sharply. He twitched again but didn't wake. Cupping her hand under nose as the blood really started to run, she slowly shuffled back across the bed, managing to get her feet on the floor before she knocked over a lamp. As the resulting crash took Dean from sleeping to alert and armed in under a second, she staggered to her feet, back to him, leaning forwards.

“Cas, what's wrong?” 

Without turning around she took a deep shuddering breath. Her words were less than reassuring.

“I need you to breathe. Stay calm. Calm is very important.”

Dean's frown deepened.

“Calm about what? Cas…argh!” At the sudden sound of a car passing outside the window he dropped his knife and clamped his hands over his ears.

“Just breathe,” she repeated. “Be serene. It's very, very important.”

Puzzlement edging towards concern towards fear, Dean took his hands off his ears.

“Cas…”

“And still,” she interrupted him, slurring a little as blood covered her lips and teeth. “Stay still.”

She bolted for the bathroom, bleeding still picking up pace.

“Cas, hey!” He exclaimed, noticing the blood. Standing to follow her he put one hand on the bedside cabinet, which snapped in two at his touch. He froze. “Cas?” He called again, staring at the crack through the plasterboard.

He heard her footsteps approach, bare feet on carpet and turned to look at her. She was holding an increasingly red tissue under her nose with one hand and another tissue with the other. She put the clean tissue in his hand, gestured to the smudge on his face and pushed him back to sit on the bed. He swiped it irritatedly across his face, taking the smear of blood with it.

“I said still, Dean,” she said, muffled.

He stared at his hands, then at the table and finally at her.

“Cas,” he said, deceptively calmly. “I just broke a table in half. With my bare hands. By accident. What the hell is going on?”

She rearranged the tissue under her nose, trying to find any of it that wasn't blood soaked.

“I need to think how to phrase my explanation,” she told him, still muffled.

He paused, impatient, still deliberately breathing slowly and deeply and lasted nearly three seconds before snapping.

“Any time now, Angel!”

She sighed and gave up on the tissue, letting the blood pour freely again.

“Keep your head facing me,” she instructed. “But look in the mirror. Corner of your eye.”

He gave her a hard, blank stare, waiting for any more information. When none was forthcoming, his slid his eyes left, just catching his reflection. He froze, heart pounding. His reflection now included huge black wings, folded over his bare back, and a light inside him. Not under the skin, but coming from deeper within. He felt his breathing speed up.

“Calm, Dean,” she insisted. “Serene. Breathe slowly.”

He looked back at her now ashen blood spattered face. Clearly feeling woozy, she was starting to sway. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Sit down before you fall down,” he told her, and heard the thump as she abruptly hit the floor. He opened half an eye and smiled half a smile. “Smooth.”

“You need to be careful what you phrase as a command,” she said, cryptically.

He held the other tissue out to her and she took it, pressing it to her nose as she shifted sideways to lean against the bed frame. He opened his eyes again.

“Alright. So. Again. What the hell is going on?”

“First, listen,” she replied urgently. “You're going to surge. All of that power is new and unaccustomed and the excess will burn off. If we know when it's coming, we can channel it. If we don't you'll raze everything in a hundred yard radius.”

None of that sounded good to Dean, who was starting to be seriously annoyed with cryptic bullshit.

“Cas! Five words or less!”

“I'm human. You're not.”

He gaped at her.

“Are…are you saying I've got your mojo?”

She nodded. He considered this. _Could be worse, right?_ He sniffed.

“Can you smell doughnuts?” He asked. “I can smell doughnuts.” Her hand slipped away from her face, falling into her lap. “And…iron?” _not iron, numbskull, blood_

His head snapped around to look at her. Barely awake, her eyes were fluttering as she fought to stay with it, blood covering not only the lower half of her face but her neck, hands and chest. He dropped to his knees in front of her, too scared to actually touch her in case she broke as easily as the table had.

“Cas?” No answer. “Castiel, how do I help?”

“You’re the human expert,” she mumbled though the continual rain of blood.

“Can I do the whole ‘be healed’ thing?” 

“ ‘m sleepy,” she sighed. “Gonna be sick.”

“Hey!” He was nearly shouting now. “Quit counting sheep! You're going into shock!”

Her head slumped sideways.

“Castiel, wake up!” He flinched at the sound of his voice. The desperate command had sounded like gunfire, an engine gunning, the turn of the rack.

Her brain obeyed, but her body was missing too much blood and managed only to lurch unsteadily into a slightly more upright position. Swearing, he instinctively caught her. There was a flash and she gasped, deep and loud, surging to her feet as though thrown by an electric shock.

“You are not allowed to do that anymore!” She half wailed, half panted. “You are much too heavy on the adrenaline!”

“I don't even know what I did!” He protested, as relieved to see the bleeding stop as he was freaked out. In the silence that followed, he realised he could hear her heart beating, fast with the mentioned adrenaline. His eyes widened. “I can hear your heart.”

Her words tumbled over each other.

“You healed me but you don't know what you're doing and you panicked and over did it and and oh God I am coated in blood and I'm human and you’re not human and of COURSE you can hear my heart but I can't hear yours and I'm scared!”

Another silence as Dean tried to catch up with what she'd said. She whimpered, hands flexing by her sides.

“This is panic, isn't it?” She quavered. Dean nodded, standing to very carefully pull her down to sit on the bed.

“You need to breathe,” he returned her earlier instruction to him, and then elaborated. “In for five, hold for five, out for five.”

She obeyed, gradually calming down. Dean sat next to her and ran a hand through his hair.

“How did this even happen?

“I'm more worried about the why,” she said, morosely. “And how long reversing it will take.”

She paused, staring at her hands. Her fingernails, which had been short, were now somewhere in the Morticia Addams length range. Frowning, she flipped her hair forward over her shoulder and held it up. It was a foot longer than it had been.

“As much as I appreciate your healing my haemorrhage, I don't think you should do anymore healing.”

“You're welcome,” said Dean, half sarcastically.

She took a deep breath, still calming down, and looked at her blood soaked reflection.

“I need to shower,” she observed. Dean agreed. “And then we need to get dressed.” Dean was less enthused by this. “And I need a tattoo parlour.” Dean frowned.

“Why?” 

She tapped his anti-possession tattoo in answer. He sighed.

“That’s paranoid. And probably right. Go shower. I'll call Sammy.”

“You don't want to join me?”

Dean started to grin.

“Well, I guess you've never used one before…and it'll save water…”

Grinning back, she disappeared into the bathroom. He heard the shower start and followed her. Concerned, he watched her scrub the blood off. She turned, tilting her head back under the water, eyes closed, and the concern turned to a definite enjoyment of the view.

“Watch or join me, up to you,” she said, eyes still closed. This seemed like a no brainer to Dean, who slid into the shower with her, backing her against the wall. She ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe we should just stay here.”

“Its a motel, Cas. The hot water is gonna give eventually.”

“It's a nice idea, though,”

He smiled down at her, and she leaned up to kiss him. He pushed her harder into the wall and she let him take her weight, wrapping her legs around his waist. Wrapped up in what he was doing, Dean didn't notice that the water, which had been rapidly cooling, was now starting to steam. As the now nearly boiling water hit the hand that Cas was running down his back she yelped in pain, and put her feet suddenly on the floor. Dean pulled back to look at her, confused.

“You can't feel it, can you?” She asked, deepening his confusion. “Let me out!”

Still confused and a little bit hurt, Dean stepped aside. She dove out of the shower towards the sink, turning the cold tap on full and plunging her hand under the faucet. Horrible realisation dawned across Dean’s face.

“Cas!”

She waved the other hand dismissively. 

“It's not bad, I promise. It's been so many centuries since something like this happened to me I forgot it can happen. Your emotions can have a psycho kinetic affect.” 

“My emotions are crazy?” He asked. She shook her head.

“When you feel strongly you change things around you,” she smiled slightly. “You find me so attractive you warped the laws of physics. I'm flattered.” 

Dean tried and failed to process this to the same conclusion.

“You are wired wrong,” he told her, running a hand over his face. “Are you sure it isn't that bad?”

She showed him and reached for a towel.

“May I have my underwear back please?”

“Not a question I ever thought an angel would ask me,” he muttered, going to get it while she dried her hair.

She pulled the towel off her head to find Dean leaning in the doorway holding her panties. She reached for them, and he jerked them out of her reach teasingly. Her expression didn't flicker.

“Well, if you want to wear them, I don't mind.”

Dean practically threw them at her and retreated to find his own clothes. She followed, picking clothing off the floor and dressing. Pulling his t shirt on, Dean suddenly paused, listening. A moment later, his phone started ringing.

“Cas,” he said, deliberately calm. “How did I hear that before it started ringing?”

“Your phone is ringing?” She responded unhelpfully.

He leaned down and grabbed the phone from where it had fallen on the floor.

“It's Sam,” he told her, holding it out to her. “You answer it.”

“Sam?” She answered the cell. “You…don't sound livid…” Dean frowned at her. “A vision of what? That is…disturbingly accurate…we drove past a tattoo parlour called Inky Joe’s. Meet us there. Dean won't be driving and I don't know how.” She hung up and tossed the phone back to Dean, who pocketed it, still frowning.

“Cas, why would Sam be…wait. What do you mean I won't be driving?”

“I'm worried about more surges.” 

Dean hesitated.

“Is that possible?”

“Probable. Whether you'd crash and kill us both, damage the Impala or turn it into an attractive woman whose eyes I'd have to gouge out is anyone's guess.”

Dean considered the last one. The image seemed have made a happy home. Cas held up two short knives which more resembled razor blades that were blunt enough to hold at one end.

“Don't even touch the bumper,” she said.

Dean hastily stopped smiling. Satisfied, she slid the blades into her garters. Filing that under “worrying”, Dean changed the subject.

“How are we gonna get to this tattoo place if we can't drive?”

“We walk. It's only a mile or so.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Dean sat on the bed and reached for his boots. “What did Sam say?”

“He had a vision, but it wasn't the vision I gave him.”

Dean stopped tying his laces and turned to look at her.

“But he hasn't gone all Miss Cleo in years,”

Finding her own shoes and slipping them on, Cas explained.

“The counter spell I did let me send them each a false vision. Crowley will have seen us burning down his tailor’s shop and destroying expensive possessions of his.”

Dean grinned.

“Nice,”

“Bobby should have seen us burn a lot of his books. Sam…Sam should have seen himself with you.”

Dean frowned, not getting it. She raised her eyebrows. The penny failed to drop. She gave up on the unfamiliar world of euphemisms.

“Having sex, Dean.”

There was a beat where his expression didn't change, then disgust spread across his features.

“Aww, Cas, c’mon, that's sick!”

“Yes,” she said bluntly. “That's the point.”

He pointed an accusatory finger.

“You're twisted!” He said sternly, returning to his bootlaces.

“In any case, that isn't what he saw. He saw your wings, saw you break the table and saw me bleeding.”

“Well, that's creepy.”

Cas agreed, but was disinclined to discuss it further.

“We should go.”


	8. Focus on the Potential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean make their way to meet Sam.

They walked in silence for the first half a mile, careful not to get too close to each other. In the parking lot, Cas had taken Dean's hand and the motel’s neon sign had fritzed out. So they kept to the far sides of the sidewalk, Dean closest to the road, each stealing glances at the other when they weren't looking.

Dean stopped suddenly, clamping a hand over his nose and gagging.

“God, what is that smell?”

Cas stopped walking at looked at him, frowning, hands in her coat pockets.

“Whatever it is, it must be outside the range of human senses.”

“How far do mine go now? I can't even see anything that smells like that!”

Her frown deepened.

“Are your other senses extending?”

He paused, trying them out.

“Depends. Can you hear that music?”

“I cannot,” she said, suddenly turning and walking into the trees off the sidewalk. “We're taking a detour.” 

“Hey, Cas, wait up! Whats going on?”

“Do you feel nervous? Or excited?”

“Uh, I guess. But I'm pretty sure it's you making me nervous.”

She sped up, seemingly desperate to get out of sight of the road. He followed.

“Do you think you could touch me, innocently or otherwise, without a psychokinetic reaction?”

He threw his arms up in exasperation.

“How would I know?”

She stopped walking and he nearly barrelled into her. Turning suddenly, she leaned up and kissed him briefly. He felt a wave of energy and she stumbled, gasping. He caught her, staring frightened at her face. To his surprise she was flushed and almost smiling, lips slightly parted as she shuddered before catching her breath. He let her stand and stood back. If he didn't know better he'd swear she looked…turned on?

“What did you just do?” He asking suspiciously.

“I didn't,” she said, starting to stare around at the floor. “You did.”

“Alright,” he said. “What did I do?”

She looked back at him, blushing slightly, smiling suggestively. This time he didn't need it spelled out.

“Oh!” He started to grin, making her blush deeper. “I could get used to that.”

She stooped to pick something up.

“Don't let it go to your head,” she warned, serving only to widen his grin. She stood and turned, holding something in her hand. “Here.”

He held his hand out and she dropped an acorn into it.

“Focus,” she told him. “Focus on the potential.”

He looked from the acorn in his hand to her.

“Seriously?”

“Either you'll grow it or flatten everything nearby, but it's the only way I can think to burn this off,” she said, not exactly building his confidence. She continued. “If it works, you'll have to try to do things, they won't just happen.”

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” he muttered, aware that Cas was hastily retreating to a safe distance.

As it was, Cas wasn't quite quick enough and ended up thrown to the ground by the sudden explosion. She threw her arms over her head and waited for the noise to die down. Eventually it did and she stood, dirt covered and stockings laddered. There was an extremely large tree, but no sign of Dean.

“Dean?” She called to the world in general, absently picking a leaf out of her hair. There was no answer. “Dean? Are you in the tree?” She paused. “Are you actually the tree?”

As she approached, she heard swearing from somewhere in the canopy. She put two fingers from each hand in her mouth and whistled. An irritated voice shouted back down.

“What?” 

“I like your tree,” she called back. “Are you hurt?”

There was more aerial swearing that expressed that Dean would be much obliged if she could find him a way down, if it wasn't too much trouble. She sighed.

“Think about where I'm standing and use me as an anchor,” she called. After a moment she elaborated. “Like walking towards my voice.”

There was quiet and then Dean crashed to the ground in a heap in front of her. She leaned down and helped him up, face carefully straight. 

“Shut up!” He snapped. “Let's just go.”


	9. Inky Joe's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets caught up.

Sam was waiting for them at Inky Joe’s, leaning on the hood of one of Bobby’s cars. He stared at them as they approached, covered in various bits of forest.

“Uh, you okay?” He asked, torn between amusement and concern.

“Peachy,” growled Dean.

“Cas? You okay?”

Cas stopped walking just inside of Sam's personal space. When she spoke, her voice sounded like candy coated cyanide.

“Well, Sammy, yesterday I found out that my closest friend was not only betting on my romantic life but let a spell be put on the book that would give him a vision of me having sex with his brother. Then I had to do a counter spell to stop that and it made me human. Then I lost my virginity in a low rent motel and woke up still. Human. Not only am I still human, but someone has taken all of my angelic power and crammed it into your brother who so far this morning has healed me so hard my hair and nails grew, scalded me, made me orgasm with barely a kiss and grown an oak tree that looks two hundred years old. I have leaves in my hair, no grace, I've walked a mile in four inch heels and I am stuck with stupid human senses and tendencies.” Her eyes narrowed and her voice dropped to a snarl. “What do you think?”

Sam stared at her, alarmed, then looked at Dean over her head. Wide eyed, Dean's only response was:

“Does it say something about my life choices that that is the hottest thing I have ever seen?”

Cas half turned to stare at him.

“Really?” She demanded. “Given the choice of any moment in the last thirty six hours, this is the moment you'd choose?” She glared from one Winchester to the other. “I'm going to stab you both!”

Abruptly, she spun and stalked into the parlour, the door slamming behind her.

Sam watched her go, wide eyed.

“Well, that was…terrifying,” he said. “Uh…is she serious about stabbing us?”

“Dunno, maybe.”

“Hey, Dean, shouldn't you have sprung for a nicer place?”

“What?”

Sam smirked.

“For Cas’ first time. I mean, c’mon, a fleabag motel?”

“Not today, Sammy,” 

If Sam had been really listening instead of bent on teasing Dean, he'd have heard the warning. Instead, the metal of the hood under his hands suddenly becoming hot enough to fry an egg came as something of a surprise. He leapt forward, staring from the car to Dean.

“What the hell, man?”

Dean buried his face in his hands before running them back through his hair.

“Apparently there's a whole psycho kinetic thing to being an angel I don't have a handle on yet.”

“Dude, that's weird.”

Dean shrugged and nodded.

“Weird pretty much sums it up.”

“Hey, uh, Dean? What did she means about a spell?”

This time Sam caught the alarm bells under the joking tone.

“Oh, you know, you make bets on your brothers sex life, let the King of Hell put a no cheating, everyone gets their own private porno that we have to star in spell on the book,”

“There was a spell for what?” Sam started, before catching himself. “I mean, uh, bets?”

Dean glared. Sam gave up.

“Dean I swear I didn't know anything about a spell. I mean what makes you think I want to see...that?”

“Apparently the idea is it gives you proof that you won...how much was it?”

“Hundred bucks. Bobby bet one of his books.” He cringed guiltily at Dean's anger.

“Hundred bucks and a book? That's it?! That's all you won?!”

Sam scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

“Well, unless Crowley decides all bets are off, he's not supposed to mess with us for a year.”

Silently, Dean conceded that this was a reasonable prize.  
“Hey, so if the spell was for a vision of…” Sam paused to grimace. “You guys, why did I see wings? The second spell?”

“Yeah, well kinda. She gave you each a vision of something...something you wouldn't wanna see. I guess you’re just...prone to this crap.”

Sam put his face in his hand.

“Wonderful. What was I supposed to see?”

There was an awkward pause.

“Nothing good. Bobby mention his? She sent him us burning all his books.”

“When I could see again there was some yelling about that, yeah. What did she give me? Laptop exploding?”

Another pause.

“Crowley saw us destroy a load of his toys, too. And burn down his tailor.”

Sam laughed.

“Oh, he is not going to be happy.” His tone changed, back to teasing. “Wait, you're avoiding the question.”

“Drop it, Sammy,” Dean snapped.

“Dean, it can't be that bad. You know if you don’t tell me, I'm just going to ask Cas.”

Dean cringed at the thought. Sam was starting to enjoy himself.

“C’mon man, just tell me!”

Dean decided to get it over with.

“She, and I had nothing to do with this,” he said with a disgusted grimace. “Sent you a vision of us. Together.”

Sam's smile faded fast.

“Like, together together?”

“Can we please drop this now? I'm not spelling it out.”

There was another, even more awkward pause.

“Your girlfriend is wrong.”

On this occasion, Dean couldn't disagree.

“Twisted, man.”

“Really, really wrong.”

“Sick,” he agreed glumly.

Sam clapped him in the shoulder.

“Knew you were perfect for each other!”


	10. Boo Hag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam starts researching what might have happened.

One much calmer Angel and one hidden tattoo later, they returned to the motel room, Cas going straight to the bathroom to change the dressing as instructed. Following Dean into the room, Sam stared first at the broken bedside table and then at his brother.

“Table call you names?”

“It was an accident!” Dean protested, defensively.

“An accident. With your new angel powers. Which happened how by the way?”

Dean sat on the rumpled bed, shaking his head. 

“If I knew that, Sammy, I'd be fixing it.”

Sam glanced again at the broken table, then at the state of the bedsheets and took his laptop to the far side of the dining table.

“So you have all of it?” He asked, plugging the charge cable in. “The wings, the smiting, everything?”

Dean paused. Smiting hadn't occurred to him. He raised his voice.

“Hey, Cas? Can I smite stuff?”

Her voice called back from behind the locked bathroom door.

“Yes. Don't try it indoors.”

Dean half smiled, taken with the possibilities.

“Awesome.”

Less taken with the thought, Sam was glad for the table between them.

“I'll do some research, see if there's anything about this happening before.”

He typed for a while before noticing that Dean seemed to be completely zoned out.

“Uh, Dean?”

Dean snapped to.

“Huh?”

“What's that about?”

Dean frowned.  
“You can't hear that?”

Sam shook his head.

“Hear what?”

“Of course you can't hear that,” Dean muttered, before flinching as whatever it was suddenly invaded his earshot again. “Oh, c’mon, man!” He exclaimed, standing suddenly. “It's not a damn pie eatin’ contest, your supposed to make her…feel…good…” He trailed off, catching the judgemental look on Sam’s face. “They're being loud!” 

Sam raised an eyebrow, deciding on how many different ways he should call Dean a perv for listening in, but Dean flinched again, a hand going to his head.

“You okay, man?”

“I'm fine,” he replied, gesturing irritatedly at the world in general. “It's just…loud!”

“You'll get used to it,” said Cas, reappearing behind Sam. Her voice was quiet and lacking the anger from outside the parlour it sounded shocking soft and empty to Sam. Catching the eye contact between the other two, Sam coughed uncomfortably and turned back to the laptop.

“Right well get this: I'm finding lots of things things that can drain life and energy, like the Boo Hag in Gullah culture, but nothing that seems to transfer it. Not even counting the angel aspect.”

Cas walked around the room, flicking her hair irritatedly.

“It’s not just energy it's...motor memory and knowledge and an entire genetic rewrite. The senses, the wings...those are physically part of an angel's body. We've literally changed species.”

Before Sam could reply, Dean jumped in.

“Are we just ignoring that there's a mook called a Boo Hag?”

Sam glared at him.

“Boo Hag? Seriously?”

Deciding to ignore Dean, Sam turned back to Cas.

“I know, but I'm not finding anything. I think we need Bobby's library. And he's...not exactly happy with you right now.”

Cas nodded.

“If you can bring me books I can read and research here.”

“I'll go smooth things over and see if Bobby can think of anything. You guys should stay here, and not let Dean break anything else.”

“What?” Dean snapped. “I'm not staying!”

“You're not coming with, Dean,” said Sam, firmly, before relenting a little. “I'll be as quick as I can, promise.”

“But I…” Dean cast around for the right phrase. Cas supplied it.

“But you're burning with energy and desperate to fly.”

“…yeah.” He said, still not used to her completely getting everything he was going through. He turned back to Sam. “I can get to Bobby’s way quicker than you.”

Sam sighed.

“Dean, you show up at Bobby's right now and you are liable to get a chest full of salt. And then he'll get creative!”

“I didn't send the damn vision!” Dean yelled. “And I kinda wanna have a chat with him about running a damn book on me and Cas!”

“Dean, you grew a tree because of one of these surge things Cas mentioned.” Said Sam, rolling his eyes. “ What happens if you do it in the library?”

Dean turned to Cas.

“You said there wouldn't be any more!”

“I said it was unlikely,” she corrected him.

“See?” He said, turning to Sam and gesturing at Cas. “Unlikely!”

Sam decided to leave while the going was good, standing and quickly gathering the laptop and cable.

“You lovebirds argue this out. I'll be back soon. Dean? Stay.”


	11. Tramp Stamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to comfort Cas as she has trouble adjusting to humanity.

The next twenty four hours passed without major incident. Leaving Cas holed up with some borrowed books, Sam and Dean had gone back to Bobby’s and after some yelling, a small kitchen fire and Sam doing his best to mediate, everyone seemed to be good.

Dean was getting better at the flying, too, having tried short distances around the junk yard. Confident enough in this new found ability, he used it to get back to the motel to check on Cas, Sam following in the car to bring a fresh supply of books. He was perturbed to find the curtains all shut and the lights apparently off.

Unlocking and opening the door, he made out a huddled shape in the centre of the bed. He switched the light on. Still dressed from the day before and sporting a thousand yard stare to match the mess, Cas was sat, knees to chest, surrounded by scattered books and unmade bed linen. With a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach, Dean realised that she must have been crying hard and long.

“Cas?” He covered the distance between door and bed inhumanly fast. “Cas, what happened?”

She tried to speak and croaked, then swallowed and managed to whisper:

“Nothing,”

“This isn't nothing, Cas, what happened?” Dean's eyes narrowed. “Do I need to kill someone?”

She shook her head, still expressionless.

“I feel nothing,” she clarified. “It's all gone. My heart…I can't even feel my heart…” she swallowed again. “I tried to sleep, but…” She trailed off with a shudder.

Dean relaxed slightly, satisfied that it was the toll of the switch and not some fresh horror. He sat next to her, putting a hand on her back.

“Nightmares, huh?”

She nodded, still staring at nothing.

“Yeah, you see the stuff we see, that happens. Humans kinda need sleep though,”

If anything, that seemed to be the worst thing to say. She hunched over tighter, squeezing her arms around her shins.

“Cas, you have to sleep.” 

“I have slept,” she said. “And now I'm awake.”

She made it sound like a choice between needles and knives. He pulled her closer.

“How can I help?”

“Let me hear anything I used to be able to.”

Dean paused, thinking, then pulled her head down to his chest so her ear was over his heart. He lay back on the bed as her arm snaked around his waist, his hand staying to pet her hair, eliciting a sigh.

“Better?” He asked.

“Much,” she replied, tracing idle patterns on his chest with her fingers.

He watched the fabric catch under the long fingernails, listening to her heartbeat and feeling the warmth of her hair under his fingers. He smirked.

“I bet I know what'll tire you out too much to dream,” he murmured. She lifted her head to look at him quizzically. His smile widened. “It'll definitely make you feel something too.”

His hand left her hair to lift her chin, pulling her face towards his. Comprehension dawned across her face and he chuckled, leaning in for the kiss and pulling her on top of him. Without breaking contact, she shifted her weight to kneel over him, one hand in his hair and the other arm used as a prop. He slid his hands around her waist, undoing her skirt and starting to run his hands up her back. He stopped as she flinched, nearly biting down on his lip.

“Mind the tattoo,” she warned him. He winced in sympathy, then realised where his hands were.

“You got a tramp stamp?!” He demanded, trying like hell not to burst out laughing.

She pushed up to look down at him.

“I don't know what that phrase means,” she said.

“Of course you don't,” he said, failing.

Still puzzled by his amusement, she tilted her head.

“Don't you want to see it?”

“Hell, yes, I want to see it!” He sat up, taking her by the shoulders to turn her back to him. Obligingly, she raised the hem of her shirt to display the familiar sigil in the centre of several other sigils arranged in the professional tramp stamp V. He raised his eyebrows. Inky Joe was clearly good at his job. “What are these?” He asked, tracing his thumb under the unfamiliar symbols. “Other than art on a beautiful canvas?”

“As with the exorcisms, I must ask if you think there's only one that works.” She paused. “And if such shameless flattery is supposed to earn you favour.”

“Depends,” he drawled as she turned to face him again. “Is it working?”

In answer, her smile turned suggestive and her hands ran up his thighs towards his belt. He grinned back at her, pulling his t shirt over his head and grabbing her, pulling them both back down. Her lips left his and started to trail down his chest, her hands undoing his jeans.

“Oh, I like where this is going,” he said quietly, before the door slammed open revealing a suddenly very embarrassed Sam. “Of course.” He hissed, head thumping into the bed. He felt Cas sit up and away from him.

“This had better be some sort of emergency, Sam.” She sounded both annoyed and amused.

Sam, in absence of anywhere less inappropriate to look, was staring at the ceiling.

“Pretty sure the receptionist is a demon,”

Dean covered his face with his hands.

“I hate my life,” he moaned. Cas took a more practical approach.

“Well, go and kill it and leave us alone,” she told Sam.

“I'm also pretty sure it's not the only one.”

She sighed.

“Go and wait outside, we’re right behind you.”

Gladly, Sam ducked back outside and shut the door.


	12. Will It Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas disagree on the subject of fighting demons.

The demonic receptionist was proving to be a much tougher fight than anything inhabiting the body of a scrawny teenager should have been. Finally getting the bastard on the ropes for a second, Dean reached for the demon blade but the figure in front of him suddenly stiffened, light pouring out of it, before slumping to the floor to reveal Cas holding a bloody Angel blade.

“Aw, Cas, he was mine!”

“You were taking too long,” was her response.

“Your grace stuff is screwing up my balance!”

Her face was clearly calling him an idiot.

“Why didn't you smite it?”

“Sure, cos i know how to do that. I could fry my own head rather than his!”

She frowned, like she was having to explain that rain gets you wet.

“Palm of hand to forehead, will it dead.”

Dean scoffed.

“No way it’s that simple!”

She stared at him silently.

“Seriously?!”

“What were you expecting?”

“Like holy and mystic and crap!”

She rolled her eyes.

“The holy and mystic is already there, you just have to channel it.”

“Huh. So why was there demon?” He asked both her and Sammy, who had returned from searching the back rooms.

“Other than their apparent obligation to always show up within a mile of you two?” Cas asked.

Sam and Dean shared a look. She had a point.

“I don't know,” said Sam. “And I couldn't find any others. If it was telling the truth, they could be anyone.”

“Whatever the reason, if there are others we should find and kill them, too.” Said Cas.

For once, Dean did not really relish the idea of more fighting. Especially with Cas being human.

“Or we could wait until this mess is fixed,” he suggested.

“And who knows how long that will take?” Cas retorted, exasperated.

“I don’t know, but more demons when we aren't on our game is never a good plan.”

“You can smite. I have an angel blade. Sam is as capable as ever.”

“You're human, Cas.” He said, trying to reason with her. “You aren't sleeping and you don't know how to handle that or being breakable.”

“I can also exorcise them,” she pointed out, determined.

“Dammit Cas, you could get hurt. You could get dead!” He wasn't sure if he was yelling at her or pleading with her.

“So could you,” she pointed out. “So could Sam.”

“And we're used to that! We know how to fight with it. You don't.” He made a decision. “You're going to Bobby's.”

The look on her face and the tone of her voice was almost enough to make him step backwards.

“I don't recall making that decision.” Cold didn't cover it. Sam tried to step in, but a look from each of them was enough to tell him that he really didn't want to.

“That would be because I did,” said Dean, the volume of his voice rising as the lights started to flicker.

“And you were given autonomy over me when?” She snarled. “Tell me, Dean, when did my decisions become yours to make?”

Not having an answer to that, he just said simply:

“Don't do this, Cas. You ain't dying on me.”

“I wasn't planning on it, no.” Her voice was still cold.

“Which means you are going to Bobby's til we get this fixed.”

Her knuckles whitened around the blade hilt.

“Sam, you need to find out any reason they'd be here,” he said, not taking his eyes off her. “Cas? Room.”

“Give me another order, Dean,” she said softly, daring him. “See where it gets you.”

He sighed, suddenly tired.

“Please go inside, Cas. Please?”

This seemed to surprise her enough to consider it.

“Fine,” she said. “But the next patronising command that leaves your mouth will get you stabbed.”

She turned and stalked across the parking lot toward the room. Dean looked helplessly at Sam.

“Go,” said Sam. “I'll find out why they're here.”

They turned and went in opposite directions. Dean found Cas stood in the window of the room, lights off, staring across the parking lot. She didn't look at him.

“Cas, if you'd just listen to me for once…”

“Shut up.” Her voice was blunt and hard. The blade was still in her hand, held by her side, still bloody. “Do not stand there like a toddler with a rifle, stamping your feet and shouting your orders and expect me to turn into a meek little girl.”

He stared.

“You think this is because you're a chick now?!”

She turned her head to look at him. As much of her expression as was visible in the shadows made it clear he was missing the point.

“I think you're wilfully ignoring the fact that I have several millennia of blood on my hands,” she said in the kind of calm voice that promised a storm yet to come.

“As. An. Angel! Dammit Cas, you can die now. Easily!”

She turned back to the window, expression not changing. Without looking, she twisted the knife between her fingers and very suddenly had it levelled at Dean's chest, the point gently resting against the point between his fourth and fifth ribs, just over the heart.

“Thousands of years of experience doesn't disappear,”

Dean looked at the knife, then at her. He hadn't expected her to move quite that fast, but it was still only fast for a human.

“What can you hear right now?” He asked, pointedly.

She shrugged, but the blade didn't move.

“I've fought deaf,” 

“And blind?” He demanded. “And hobbled? And _human_?”

“Yes, yes, ask the receptionist,”

Changing tack, Dean grabbed the knife from her and pinned her to the wall, one arm across her chest, holding her easily with no effort.

“This is not a discussion,” he told her quietly. “Not a debate. You are not fighting until you can make me let you fight again.”

He watched as her eyes slid towards the window, then widened as she did a double take. Instinctively, in glanced in the same direction and was rewarded with the heel of a shoe stabbing into his ankle just above his boot, finger nails in his eyes and her hand gripping his over the knife hilt. It was painful, but not enough to make him lose his grip. The part of him that wasn't madly trying to make her just _stop_ didn't know whether to be impressed by the dirty tactics or annoyed with himself for not pinning her hands and for falling for such a stupid ruse.

“See my point?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

He watched frightened realisation spread across her face as her eyes widened and her lower lip started to shake. When she next spoke it was in a barely audible whisper.

“Please don't fight me,”

He gave her a bitter smile.

“That would be the point of this, princess,” he said, releasing her but keeping hold of the blade.

“Don't leave me unarmed!” She pleaded, not moving.

He sighed, flipping the knife to offer it to her hilt first. She took a step closer to him, reaching out to take it. He heard her heartbeat raise slightly and wondered why before he saw the satisfaction twist her lips slightly and she put the blade against his neck, length wise down the artery. Again, he cursed himself for not seeing it coming.

“We're doing this now? Well, c’mon Cas, kill me. Prove yourself.” 

She smiled grimly.

“If I kill you how will you learn?”

He laughed softly.

“You are definitely not human in the brain.” He said, fighting the spark of fondness. “Now get off me before I make you.”

She lowered the knife and stepped away, her hand brushing his as she moved. He stayed put and crossed his arms. She turned, eyes going to the window again. She frowned and stepped forward to get a better look.

“Dean?”

He glared at her. 

“Not falling for it again, Cas,” 

She rolled her eyes and dragged him to the window, pointing to two figures fighting in the parking lot. One of them was definitely Sam, and judging by the smoke, the other one had been a demon. Dean could see others, too, closing in as Sam hurried towards he and Cas.

“Remember,” she said urgently. “Palm, forehead, will it dead.”

As he nodded, she adjusted her grip on the knife and started for the door.

“Cas!” He yelled. “You are not going out there!” He grabbed her arm to pull her back. There was a horrible, deafening, sickening crack like a whip and she screamed, the blade clattering to the floor.

He let go and backed up in a hurry.

“Cas?” He managed, voice hoarse.

She didn't respond, her arm was cradled against her stomach, her head was down and she was breathing hard through her nose. The door opened. Dean jumped, but it was only Sam.

“What happened?” He asked, looking from one to the other. The horrified look on Dean's face told him plenty.

“Cas?” Said Dean again, taking a cautious step forward. “God, Cas, I didn't…I…let me see?”

“It's fine.” She ground the words out between her teeth.

“Cas, it needs…” his shoulders slumped. “Let Sam?”

“It's fine,” she repeated, in an almost normal voice.

He caught that smell again and looked at the arm. A tiny trickle of blood ran from her cuff.

“Damnit, Cas, that is not fine!” He yelled. She flinched, involuntarily turning her injured side away from him. He froze, then looked at Sam before turning away, swallowing hard. “We need to know how…how bad it is.”

“It's broken,” she said, matter of fact. “Two bones. I'll live.”

He could smell her sweat, the adrenaline, hear her heart pounding. He had no idea how she was keeping her voice steady.

“It won't heal on its own,” he said, silently begging Sam for back up.

“He's right, Cas, we need to take you to a hospital,”

She looked from one to the other, like she was seeing their faces for the first time.

“Dean,” she said, her voice suddenly soft and conciliatory. “Don't…”

“Sam’ll take you,” he cut her off.

“Dean, it’s okay,” she started again. “I…”

“Don't say it, Cas,” he choked. “Don't you dare forgive me.”

Sam cringed in the sudden silence. He knew what was coming even if Dean didn't.

“Or. What?” She spat, making them both jump at the sudden venom. “Or what, Dean?” She snarled again. He stared at her, lost for words. “Or what?” She suddenly screamed. “You'll break my other arm?”

They both gaped at her, recognising the kind of rage that only comes with that much pain.

“How dare you talk to ME about forgiveness? Stop telling people how to feel about you! And stop telling me what to do! I'm thousands of years older than you! I will forgive your stupid ass every goddamn time!”

Dean was actually backing away from her now. 

“Go to the hospital. Now!” His voice was the slam of a morgue door, the thud of an axe. It was hard to say who it frightened most.

Sam took Cas gently by the shoulders, pulling her away from Dean. She let him, but didn't turn away.

“Forgiveness is love, idiot.”

“Don't, Cas, not when your bleeding because of me.”

There was a shout somewhere outside.

“Dean, get the demons. I'll take care of her.” Sam had a tighter hold on her shoulders now, he could feel her shaking.

Dean looked sadly once more at Cas, nodded and disappeared with a rustle.


	13. Look, They Fixed It!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam drives Cas back from the ER

Somewhere around dawn, a throughly exhausted and frazzled Sam finally left the ER, trailing an angel with a brand new cast on one arm and very thorough pain killer high. Reaching the car, he dumped the forged paper work, prescribed drugs and her coat in the back seat before turning just in time to see her catch her heel in a pothole and stumble like a drunk.

“Whoops!” She chirped, as he caught her arm.

“You alright?” He asked. She considered this.

“Um. Yes.” She nodded for emphasis, making herself dizzy.

He sighed.

“Of all the habits to pick up from Dean, you had to go with insisting your fine when you're clearly not, didn't you?”

“But I _am_ alright,” she crooned, leaning against him as he lead her to the car. “Look, they fixed it!” She held up the cast, then frowned at it. Her face cleared. “And the nice nurse man gave me candies!”

 _Lord save us from angels on drugs_ he thought, leaning her against the Impala so he could open the passenger door. Despite the support the car offered, she was still having trouble staying reliably upright as she giggled and beckoned him closer.

“I have a secret!” She told him in an exaggerated whisper. Warily he leaned towards her. “I think the candy is actually medication of some kind, shhhhh!”

“I'll keep it a secret,” he told her, grinning in spite of himself. He took her shoulders to gently push her into the seat but she grabbed him into a hug.

“Thank you, Sammy!” She murmured. He rolled his eyes over her shoulder, partly at the name, but returned the hug.

“Let's just get you in the car, okay?” This Cas was much easier to deal with than the still raging Cas that had arrived at the hospital.

“I don't wanna get in the car!” She protested, suddenly sulky as he pulled away. Easier to deal with, but still kind of a pain in the ass. “I want a hug!” She stared up at him, puppy dog eyes on full blast. “Cuz my arm hurts!”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Can you actually feel a anything right now?”

“Feel fuzzy,” she muttered begrudgingly, realising that that card wasn't playing.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he said, gently but firmly guiding her into the front seat. She stayed where he put her, facing out of the door, making no move to get in properly. He forced exaggerated brightness into his voice. “Hey, if you get in the car properly you can go hug Dean!”

She snorted, pout returning.

“Stupid Dean.”

He crouched in front of her, looking seriously into her face.

“He didn't do it on purpose Cas. You know that, right?”

“Of _course_ I know that,” she said, staring at him. “I don't care about my arm, I have two arms.” She shook her head emphatically, making herself dizzy again. “He's _patronising_!”

“Oh really? I hadn't noticed,” Sam's voice dripped with sarcasm.

“He thinks I'm _weak_!” She added, in an offended tone. “And didju know I was at Babel? And and I've been to hell…”

“You were at Babel? Really?” _wow, toy boy doesn't quite cover it here, huh?_

She nodded.

“Uh huh. And d’you know how many times demons tried to invade before humans had settlements?”

“No,” Sam admitted, using her distraction to push her legs into the footwell. She paused, trying to to count on her fingers as he leaned over her to buckle her seatbelt. 

“Lots!” She informed him suddenly and loudly, nearly making him crack his head on the car’s roof. “And sometimes there weren't many of us!” She continued obliviously. She caught his arm and looked into his eyes. “And I killed them all.” She added, voice suddenly soft and creeping Sam right the hell out. “But I get just a little bit human and he gets so _bossy_!”

Sam crouched again taking her good hand and keeping the eye contact.

“He worries, Cas. When he yells and orders, it means he cares. It took me far too long to work that out.” He smiled at her, making her smile back, her face lighting up like the sunrise above them. “But yeah, he is kinda bossy.”

She giggled, but the smile faded and she looked down.

“He's going crazy, you know. Just like me.” She looked back up at him. “I think we'll be okay, though, cuz we have you. You’re such a good friend!” She tried to hug him again, but he pushed her away to close the door and head around to the driver’s side.

As he got in, he considered questioning her about what she meant by crazy, considered that that might be taking advantage of her drugged up state and settled for resting his forehead on the steering wheel. She reached over and petted his hair a little.

“Poor Sammy,” she murmured, making him cringe again. “I wish my brothers were more like you. Cuz they…is the word suck?”

Head still on the wheel, he chuckled. 

“Yeah, that's one of them,” he said.

“They suck!” She was clearly warming to a theme here, so Sam cut her off.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in the seat and starting the engine. “They really do.”

“I'm glad I have you instead,” she said happily, making Sam long for Dean’s ‘no chick flick moments’ rule. He pulled out of the parking lot, and she became distracted by watching things pass the window.

“Sam?” She said quietly, a few minutes later.

“What, Cas?” He replied gently.

“I'm scared.” She paused. “That's a secret too.”

He glanced at her.

“Do you ever think that maybe Dean is scared too?”

She nodded absently.

“I know he is. All that noise…”

“You mean the Angel senses?”

“We can hear everything,” she said quietly. “Even the Earth as it turns.”

Sam whistled low under his breath.

“Wow. No wonder you're both freaking out.”

She nodded again.

“I meant it when I said crazy. I don't think we'll last long. Especially if we're still like this on Thursday.”

Sam thought about that.

“You're the Angel of Thursdays, right?”

“Not right now,” she said glumly. “Dean is. Which means that he'll get all the prayers.”

“Oh that's not good,” said Sam as much to himself as to her. She nodded again.

“Hey!” She said suddenly, cheering up immensely as something occurred to her. “You know what we should do?” He tilted his head curiously, eyes flicking to her and then back to the road. “We should go and murder Crowley! This is his stupid fault, with his stupid spell!” She turned to look at him, eyes wide and shining with joy. “Please can we go and murder Crowley, Sam? Pleeease?!”

He laughed.

“As nice a thought as that is, you have a broken arm and a guilty Dean to deal with.”

“Dean can come too!” She said, pleading her case. “And I'll be good, I promise! I'll even stay out of the devil trap!”

“You can murder Crowley as much as you want when you get your wings back,” he said, placatingly.

“Can I not even murder him a little bit before then?”

“No,” he said sternly.

“You're no fun,” 

“You need to handle Dean,” he told her again.

“Ooh, I'll handle Dean,” she giggled. Sam's shaders slumped.

“I did not think that sentence through.”

“Why is he so against my being violent but not against my having sex?” 

Sam glared at her out of the corner of his eye, but it seemed to be a genuine question.

“He doesn't want to see you hurt,”

Looking at the road, he didn't see the mischief creep across her face.

“I have bite marks and hand prints that say otherwise,”

The car jumped as Sam jerked the wheel in surprise and disgust.

“Cas! Don't tell me stuff like that!”

“Then don't make bets that make me think you're interested,” she said, smiling evilly. “It makes me think you want to know that he likes it when I…”

“Jeez, Cas!” He interrupted, squick rising. “I'm interested in you two being happy!”

“You skipped my vision,” she accused him. “Which means I get to make you suffer now!”

“I didn't know about the spell!” He protested, almost yelling.

“But you let Crowley near the book,” she admonished, before wagging a finger at him. “You made bets with the King of Hell!”

“You might remember I don't have the best track record with good decisions,” he told her, pulling into the motel parking lot.

“Well, maybe if I tell Dean about that time we watched Disney movies and you got drunk and cried when the lion died you'll learn to make better ones.” She was giggling at him now, enjoying winding him up. He parked and turned to face her.

“Do not. I repeat, do _not_ tell Dean about that. Ever.”

“Gimme a hug and I'll promise,” she said.

“Done,” he said, sincerely hoping that this would never leave the car.

“And if you take this stupid itchy thing off my arm I'll let you keep the Angel blade,”

He sighed again, realising just how tired he was.

“No deal, Cas, the cast stays.”

“But look at it!” She whined. 

He had an idea. Reaching into the glove box he found a marker pen and gently took her arm, writing across the top of it. She frowned at him, confused. Finishing, he let her look. Above his signature it said ‘without love we are birds with broken wings’.

“I don't understand why you did that,” she said. “But I like it.”

“It's a human tradition,” he told her. “Friends and family sign casts.”

He left her happily examining it and got out of the car, grabbing the stuff from the back seat and moving round to open the passenger door for her. She slid out of the seat, tried to stand and pitched forwards, nearly landing flat on her face. Juggling the rest of the stuff, he managed to catch her, helping her stand properly. She pushed the door closed. Sam looked at her, looked up at the room door at the top of the stairs and sighed. Putting the pills in his pocket and shifting the stuff to the crook of one arm, he picked her up. She squeaked with surprise, but thankfully didn't struggle.

He made it up the stairs and into the room with no incident and deposited her on the bed before dumping the other stuff on the table. He turned back to her, exasperated to find her standing again. Wordlessly, she held her arms out for hug. He obliged.

“Love you, Sammy,” she said.

“Love you, too, Cassie,” he said, pushing her back to sit on the bed. “Now stay put. I'll go find Dean.”


	14. Angel of Thursdays and Crappy Metal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam fills Dean in on Cas' current state.

Sam opened the door to his own motel room.

“Dean?” He called, hoping his brother would be around so he could quit babysitting Cas and sleep. There was no answer. Sam hit the light and rubbed his eyes. What had Cas said? Dean can get prayers? “O, Dean,” he tried again. “Angel of Thursdays and crappy metal, if you can hear this prayer please appear before your humble and sleep deprived brother…”

There was a moment of silence and then something shoved him between the shoulder blades, making him jump out of his skin.

“My music rocks, bitch!” Came the familiar voice.

“Jesus Christ, don't DO that!” Sam turned to face his brother. “Are you trying to give me a freakin’ heart attack?”

Dean grinned at him like the jerk he was.

“You prayed,” he shrugged. “Which is weird, by the way.”

“Seemed like the quickest way to find you.”

“You weren't sure it would work,” said Dean. It wasn't a question. “I could tell. Also pretty damn weird.”

Sam sighed and muttered under his breath.

“Thursday is gonna suck.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Dean, glancing around the room.

“She tell you?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I can put two and two together and come up with ‘screwed’ all by myself, Sammy. I do use the laptop for more than porn, you know.”

Sam eyed the bed longingly, desperate for the sweet embrace of blankets and sleep.

“Sure, Dean. Whatever you say.”

“So…how is she?” To someone who didn't know Dean very well, this would have sounded like a casual question. Sam however, caught all the concern and doubt and fear even through the fog of exhaustion. He cast around for the right words. Words like ‘pain’ and ‘scared’ and ‘vulnerable’ floated around his mind before he settled on the most immediately true phrase.

“She's…high as balls.”

“Pain meds?” Asked Dean, frowning. Sam nodded. “Okay, and?”

“It took six hours and three crying interns, but the arm's fine. It's a clean break and she has a cast on it, so it'll heal in like a month tops.”

Dean grimaced in sympathy both for his brother’s hellish time in the hospital and for Cas being stuck in a cast for a month.

“She pissed?” Again, the casual observer would not have caught the undertones.

“Not about the arm,” said Sam, caving to the bed’s siren call and sitting down, kicking his boots off.

Dean leaned against a wall, looking down.

“So I ruined it, huh.” He said quietly.

Sam was too tired to keep up with the train of Dean's self loathing.

“Ruined what?”

“Me and Cas.”

Sam stared at his brother, trying to decide if this whole thing had already driven him completely insane.

“What? No! God, you're so melodramatic!” He burst out, surprising Dean. “She just hates being ordered around, that's all.”

“You mean she hates the way I spoke to her a whole bunch before and after I snapped two of her bones?”

Sam lay back on the bed. The wonderful bed which needed no supervision and no Dear Abi activity from him.

“Dean, it was a fight,” he groaned. “They happen. She knows you want to keep her safe, she just reacted badly to how you went about it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean didn't sound convinced. Sam was quickly running out of both patience and consciousness.

“Are you gonna stay here and mope at me or go ask her?” 

“I haven't decided yet,” muttered Dean.

Sam fished the bottle of pills from his pocket and threw them at Dean, secretly hoping they'd hit him in his stupid face. To his disappointment, Dean caught them.

“Well, take those with you,” he grunted, savouring the way the pillow felt under his head. He could also feel Dean looking at him. “Dean, as much as I love her, I can't take any more of her tonight. She went from screaming at interns to being my bestest ever fwend to planning a field trip to go kill Crowley.”

“That's sounds like a great idea to me,” said Dean. Sam recognised the voice his brother used when something was about to get shot.

“I talked her round to not doing it tonight,” he warned, Hoping he wouldn't have to forbid Dean, too.

“Yeah, that's a better idea,” Dean sighed, making his way to the door. “Time to face the music I guess.”

“Drama queen,” murmured Sam. He had enough practice to basically hear Dean's eyes rolling.

“Go to sleep Aurora. I'll go see the pissed, drugged up murderous warrior with a blade that can kill me. Life was getting boring anyway.” 

Sam would have made another derisive comment as the door shut, but he was already asleep.


	15. Hey Jude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean goes to find Cas and is surprised by her lack of anger.

Dean paused with his hand on the doorknob, still not sure what to expect. After a moment’s hesitation where he called himself some fairly colourful names he opened the door, slid inside and shut it behind him.

“Hello, you,” Cas was standing in front of him, smiling a genuine smile only slightly warmed by industrial strength painkillers.

“Uh, hey,” he said sheepishly, feeling guilty that he'd been psyching up for another fight. He looked at the cast on her arm, stomach twisting. She didn't notice the look on his face. Wearing only an old pair of Dean’s trackies and a bra, she a had a t shirt that he also recognised held at arm's length while she turned it around and upside down, frowning at it in deep concentration.

“I'm sure this garment wasn't always so complicated,” she remarked, turning it again. Dean was confused for a moment before remembering what Sammy had said.

_Yeah,_ he thought. _That's pretty damn high_.

“Want a hand?” He asked aloud.

“Yes please,” she held the shirt out to him with her good arm. There was still a hospital bracelet around the wrist which read in neat sharpie ‘CASSIE WINCHESTER’.

He approached and took the shirt from her, carefully easing it over the cast, on which he could see Sam’s writing, although he didn't bother to read it.

“Cassie, huh? I like it.” He held the other sleeve up for her and after only a couple of false starts, she managed to get her hand through properly.

“After I made the third intern cry, Sam decided he was doing the talking.”

Dean gave a lopsided smile.

“Do I want to know what you said?”

“I'm a little fuzzy on that,” she admitted. “But I think I was screaming the the truth at them.”

Dean sniggered as he pulled the tee up and over her head, but sobered up as the hem came down and they ended up very closely face to face.

“I'm sorry,” he'd meant the words to sound sincere, to come from a strong voice that left no doubts, but they came as a hoarse whisper. She leaned her forehead against his.

“I'm sorry too,” she murmured softly.

Something in Dean fluttered and lifted. He closed his eyes, putting his arms around her properly. She leaned her head on his shoulder and the relief made him lightheaded. He could feel it pouring off her too. He wondered how they only needed to say five words between them to stack back up everything they kicked down just hours ago. Suddenly, she pulled back from the hug, looking up at him seriously. He looked back down at her, questioning. She reached up and touched his nose, making him cross his eyes to follow her finger.

“Boop.”

“So you're still a bit loopy, then?” He said, smiling properly.

“They gave me enough of what the nurse called ‘candies’ to knock out three of Sam,” she said, as though this were a closely guarded secret. He gaped at her.

“How are you still conscious?”

She shrugged, unconcerned.

“Adrenaline, maybe? Or a vessel that used to be in a sorority before becoming a hunter?”

Dean half shrugged.

“That'll do it,” he said. “So, do I get to sign the cast?”

She put her head back on his shoulder.

“Only if you don't draw a phallus or a naked woman,” she said lazily. “Sam warned me.” She added, feeling him look at the top of her head.

“Yeah, that spoilsport’s been my canvas many a time,” said Dean, manoeuvring her to sit on the bed and taking the marker that had been left on the table. Taking her arm to lay the cast across his lap he started doodling, vaguely aware that she was watching his face and not the pen. Finishing and signing with a flourish, he let her see the crude devil’s trap he'd drawn surrounded by wings. Given the way she smiled, he didn't need to ask, but he did anyway.

“You like it?”

“I love it,” she beamed, still admiring it.

“Good. Now I think its time for all good little depowered angels to get some shuteye,”

Her face fell.

“Will you stay?”

“Always,” He was smiling as he said it and he smiled wider as she blushed delightedly, scooting back across the bed and inviting him to follow with a tilt of her head. He did so, kicking his boots off and lying back, drawing her to his side, she settled against him, cast across his stomach, head on his shoulder.

“How're you coping?” She asked quietly.

“It's…uh…loud. You?” He started absently playing with her hair.

“Too quiet,” she replied, fiddling with his t shirt. “What can you hear?”

He tilted his head slightly, listening.

“Birds outside, a kid playing in another room,” he grinned. “That couple’s still trying to keep it down.”

She smiled.

“Listen deeper,” she instructed, softly.

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

“Your heart, the wiring in the walls,” he paused. “What the hell is that?”

“You need to be more specific if you want me to identify it for you,”

“It sounds like…singing. But not. Like…music if it weren't made of notes…”

“That's the others,” she told him, both happy and jealous.

“The other what?”

“Souls,” she said, absently. He opened his eyes and shifted back to look at her.

“What?” He demanded, bordering on disturbed. She looked up at him.

“You can hear souls now. What kind of music?”

“Uh…everything, I guess. The loudest is…like…churchy choral stuff.”

“Those are angelic souls. They're always loudest. That's why humans think we do a lot of singing.”

“I prefer Metallica,” he shrugged. She laughed softly. “What?” 

“The rest of the music, the jumble of different kinds, those were human souls.”

Dean thought about this.

“What do I sound like? Human me, I mean.” She laughed again. “C’mon!” He jostled her. “Tell me!”

“Like all the tapes in your car,” she said fondly. “All playing at once.”

“Loud, but awesome,” he mused. “I'll take that.”

“There are little blips,” she continued, wrapping the fabric of his top around her finger. “White noise like scars. You were so easy to find.”

After a moment, his hand stopped in her hair. She looked back up at him. He was staring at the ceiling, eyes distant, listening.

“Dean?” She said softly. He didn't answer. She raised her voice to a more normal level. “Dean!”

“I can hear screaming,” he told her, voice low.

“Nearby?” 

“They're burning,” he said hoarsely. “Always burning.”

“What do I sound like?” She kept her voice calm and was relieved to see him blink and focus on her.

“Hey Jude,” he said after a moment, feeling the wave of comfort that song always have him. “But with more voices and a better beat.”

“That is…not what I was expecting.”

“My mom used to sing it to me,” he admitted, resuming fiddling with her hair.

“Oh,” she said quietly, smiling into his shirt.

“You gonna try and sleep now?” He asked.

“I don't want to,” she said. “This is nice.”

“Y’know, rest’ll help you heal faster.”

“I'll take the pain over the nightmares,” she decided. He hugged her closer.

“I'll wake you,” he promised, but she sat up suddenly.

“I'm hungry? Is this hunger?”

“When's the last time you ate?”

She frowned at him.

“What do you mean?”

“You've been human for a couple days and you haven't eaten?” He demanded, incredulous. “Damn right your hungry, I'll order in.”

He rose, grabbing his phone from his pocket and shaking his head.


	16. No Tip For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cause of the switch reveals itself.

Cas was laughing when she opened the door, but her face fell almost immediately into a grim, unrelenting glare. Dressed in the lurid red and blue striped uniform of the local pizza parlour with the matching baseball cap perched jauntily atop his blonde hair, Gabriel was grinning at her over the large pizza box he was holding.

“Hey, sis! Gotta say, I am _loving_ the new vessel!”

Almost able to feel the look on Dean's face at the sound of Gabriel's voice, she suddenly realised what it was like to be human and stood between two angels. Looking again at her brother’s smug face, she was temped to slam the door in it, for all the good that would do, but she could smell the pizza and she was really hungry.

“Just give me the food,” she said, snatching the box and turning away from him. “And no tip for you!”

“Aww, c’mon, Cassie! Is that all I get?” He said cheerfully, following her into the room. “Not even a ‘I thought you were dead?’ Not one little ‘you saved us all, my handsome, favourite brother’?”

She dropped the box on the table with slightly more force than necessary.

“The fact that you are my favourite brother serves only to indicate how truly dreadful the rest of them are!” She snapped, sitting, still avoiding the death ray that was Dean’s gaze. Gabriel remained unphased.

“So who broke your arm? Was it tall, dark and angry over there?” There was no answer. In a moment, Gabriel was face to face with Dean, voice soft and full of menace. “Did you break my baby sister’s arm?”

The moment hung and Cas realised she was holding her breath as they stared each other down. She knew that Dean knew he wouldn't really stand a chance in an out and out fight against an archangel. For the first time in a long time, she felt like praying. Then the moment ended and Gabriel laughed, smacking Dean on the arm.

“I'm just joshing ya, I don't care! Hey, I'll sign the cast, though!” Copying Dean's action from earlier, he grabbed the marker pen from the table before sitting next to Cas. She looked at Dean, the look on his face no doubt a mirror of hers, confusion mingled with relief, then shrugged and held out the cast, opening the pizza box with her good hand and managing to fit nearly an entire slice in her mouth.

“Did you do this?” Dean demanded, feeling the unfamiliar weight build behind his voice. 

“Yep!” Came the cheery response.

The blasé confession took Dean a little by surprise. Cas didn't even react, intent on the food in front of her. Gabriel finished his work on the cast and sat back in the chair, twirling the pen between his fingers. Dean cast about in rage for something to say and settled on one word.

“Why?!”

“Aw, c’mon, Deano! Everyone's been wondering when you two crazy kids’ll get together!” He smirked. “I owe Sam some moolah! Besides, Angels and humans getting’ bizzay doesn't happen as often as you might think, this is primo gossip!” Under Dean's glare and Cas’ continued determination to ignore him, the smirk faded. “You kids need to know what you're getting into before someone who’s not a shipper like me finds out.”

Dean didn't know what ‘shipper’ meant and he didn't care.

“And making sure I can't get drunk and she can't hear anything was the best way to do that?”

Gabriel shrugged. 

“It's also funny as hell,” he grinned, making Dean's scowl deepen. He turned to Cas. “Really, Castiel? Him? If you _had_ to go with a Winchester, why wouldn't you go with Sam?”

Swallowing her mouthful, Cas turned to face her brother with the kind of deliberate movement that Dean now knew meant trouble. He became even more wary when she spoke and her voice was light and dismissive.

“Since our best chance at getting back to normal is you getting bored and ending the spell, I'm going to finish this pizza, take some more medication and go to sleep,” she told him. “While I do that, Dean is going to find me some holy oil so that I can make some molotovs in case you don't get bored quickly enough. I know they won't help in any real way, but they are a thought that makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.”

Dean felt a grin flick across his features. Gabriel paused, evidently having heard that he wouldn't be the first archangel she’d firebombed.

“Cool story, sis!” He forced his smile back on. “But I can’t end the spell. You have to fulfil the criteria for the spell to end itself!” 

He disappeared and Dean swore. Cas muttered something in Enochian.

“Did that translate to ‘my brother is a dick’?” Asked Dean.

“Essentially. I don't know any strong enough human profanities.”

“Well. Now I want to learn to swear in Enochian.” He paused, looking at her face. “You okay?”

“This isn't the worst thing he's ever done to me,” she shrugged.

“No kidding. How did you even survive growing up with that guy around? Wait. Do Angels grow up?”

“Not in the same way humans do. There's more a change in shape rather than a change in size, but it's all pre determined.” She shook her head. “I just thank God that he named us all before Celebrities existed.”

Dean boggled at her.

“God has a celeb addiction?”

“Gabriel named us,” she corrected him. Her previous comment suddenly made much more sense.

“I take it I should have known that?”

She shrugged again.

“I don't know which of your family members named you,” she pointed out. He took the chair that Gabriel had vacated.

“Mom did,” he told her. “Dad said she refused to hear any other options. Same for Sam.”

“Oh,” mused Cas. “So that's where you get it from?”

He nodded, grinning.

“Mom’s way or the highway.” 

She stretched in the chair, stopping in a nearly straight line with her arms back across her head and her eyes closed.

“What do you think we have to do to end the spell?” She asked lazily.

Dean thought back through what Gabriel had said, looking for a hint, but came up blank.

“I have no idea,” he admitted.

“Whatever he says, I'm sure he's just doing this for entertainment.”

Dean agreed.

“So what now?”

She opened one eye to look at him mischievously.

“Well, if I weren't injured and medicated…”

“Which you are,” he cut her off, firmly.

“But if I weren’t,” she continued, closing the eye again and smiling. “I would really want those molotovs.”

Dean chuckled appreciatively.

“You're my dream woman,” he said, joking and serious at the same time. Her smile widened.

“I'd also want to find out if I'd make a better means of serving whiskey than that bottle,” she gestured towards the open but abandoned Jack bottle from which Dean had learned what molecules taste like. He smirked at her.

“You're a tease, too,” he accused her. She laughed at him, stretching again and sitting upright.

“Do you know what I think?” 

He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“The hell with all of it.” She continued, her voice sounding deeper and momentarily like her old self again. “I was promised a movie education.” The girly voice was back, making Dean wonder if he'd heard her old voice at all.

“What did you have in mind?”

She flexed her shoulders, frowning at an irritation that seemed to pass quickly.

“You're the expert,” she said. “If you're happy, I'm happy.”

As he grabbed the remote and pulled her towards the bed, he wondered if it was his imagination or if the world was suddenly a lot quieter.


	17. Eyes on the Road

Later that morning, Cas woke to the sound of sirens. She peered up at Dean, who was sat on the bed listening intently with the TV set muted. Groggy from sleep and painkillers, she shifted her face out of the one rogue sunbeam that had infiltrated the curtains.

“’Z goin’ on?” She grunted, as a second siren announced the arrival of some kind of official vehicle.

“Cops,” Dean told her and quirked a smile. “Turns out some inconsiderate asshole left corpses all over the parking lot last night.”

“D’zit mean I have to get up?” She groaned. “Sleepy.”

“’Fraid so, Princess. We gotta get out of here before they start knocking on doors and asking for IDs.”

“’S’fine,” she mumbled. “I don't have one.”

He snorted and reached out to tuck some of the outrageous bed hair behind her ear.

“Tough luck, Angel, up and at ‘em. I called Sammy, his end is pretty clear so he snagged the car and headed round the back. I was about to wake you when that siren did it for me. I was impressed, you slept through the rest.”

Begrudgingly, she pushed herself into a sitting position with her good arm.

“I thought they were part of my dream,” she muttered. “How long have I been sleeping?” 

“Couple hours.”

She groaned in protest again, letting herself flop back down, before squealing as Dean stood and ripped the blanket away from her. Flailing her arms in his general direction in a vain attempt to retrieve it, she let the pitch of her whining voice rise until Dean gasped in pain.

“Goddamn, what are you? A dog whistle? Get the hell up before I start with the cold water!”

Muttering under her breath, she reluctantly stood, surprised to find herself reasonably steady on her feet. Blinking around at the room, she saw that Dean had already packed (provided the definition of “packed” was “stuffed everything into two bags and broken the zipper on one forcing it closed”). He'd even packed her clothes and shoes, everything but the coat, so she assumed his old t shirt and pants were considered more appropriate attire for evading the authorities. She was chilly, though, so she shuffled over to where her coat had been left and wrapped it on over her makeshift pyjamas. A moment later Dean's phone rang, announcing Sam's arrival at the rendezvous point. She went to help Dean carry the bags, but he shooed her away, throwing first one then the other out of the window for Sam to put in the car. He looked again out of the first story window and turned to her.

“I can fly and hold you at the same time, right?”  
She considered this.

“Long answer or short?” She enquired.

“Shortest, Angel.”

“I'm climbing out the window.”

He glared.

“What's in the long answer that would possibly make me agree to that?”

“A lecture on proportionate wing strength, multi dimensional navigation and the effect of same on angelic and human bodies. There are no diagrams, though, I'm not entirely familiar with how this vessel’s internal organs look.”

Dean glared some more.

“Fine,” he begrudgingly acquiesced. “But be careful!”

“As opposed to what?” She asked waspishly. “Flinging myself at gravity’s mercy? Of course I'm going to be careful!”

As it was, Sam had anticipated this and liberated a ladder from the motel’s maintenance shed.

********* ********** **********

Driving in silence, Sam looked at his passengers. His slid his eyes to the side to glance at Dean, who seemed to be listening to something with a frown on his face. Not wanting to ask, he raised his eyes to the rear view mirror to check on Cas, who had crawled into the back seat without a word, popped the collar on her trench coat and gone to sleep. She was a pale mess and wore a frown matching Dean's. He hoped she wasn't having nightmares. The silence was the kind that didn't want to be broken, but he figured he didn't really have a choice.

“So, uh, weirdest thing last night…” He began awkwardly.

Dean snapped back to the present and glanced at him.

“Gabriel showed up in your room, handed you some cash and left?”

Sam turned and stared until his brother gestured at the windshield.

“Eyes on the road, Sammy,” 

“How in the hell did you know that?” He demanded, turning his attention back to driving and deciding that no more of the story needed to be told.

“Jackass paid us a visit, too,” Dean told him, before filling in the pertinent details. “Don't suppose he mentioned anything about the spell to you?”

Sam shook his head.

“Nope. Just woke me up, handed me cash and disappeared.”

He felt Dean look at him.

“That’s a damn lie,” his brother said. It wasn't overly accusatory and had a glee behind it that made Sam think that maybe Dean had discovered another angelic power.

“No it's not!” He said, cursing himself for saying it too quickly and defensively.

“C’mon, Sammy, what’d he say to you?” Prodded Dean, clearly gearing up into full irritating older brother mode. Sam sighed, defeated. He knew he'd cave eventually, just to shut Dean the hell up. 

“He was…flirting with me, alright? Shut the hell up.”

Dean snorted with laughter, delight at this new ammunition spreading across his face. Sam was steeling himself to deal with constant mockery when a sleepy voice from the back seat piped up. 

“He flirts with everyone, Sam,” Cas said, followed by a heavy sigh. “Even me.” She started muttering, trailing off as she apparently settled back into a doze.

Sam glanced at Dean again.

“Was that Enochian?”

Dean nodded.

“Apparently Angels have better cussing. Who knew?”

“Her mother tongue is full of profanities but the best she's ever done in English is ‘assbutt’?”

Dean laughed, the first time Sam had heard him properly laugh in days. He grinned back. Dean looked at Cas as though making sure she was definitely asleep then turned back to   
Sam.

“You know she got a tramp stamp?”

“Seriously?” Now he was laughing too.  
It was good, that car ride, talking and laughing with each other, with Cas occasionally waking up enough to butt in. It was almost like things were back to normal.


	18. Juneau and Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys and Cas arrive at Bobby's, who is still mad about the vision.

Bobby stood just inside the kitchen window and glared at the Impala as it pulled into his driveway. Angel or not, Cas was going to be getting a good hiding for that stunt with the vision. By the time Sam had put the parking brake on Bobby was stood in the open front door, arms folded, glare intensified. He narrowed his eyes as she got out of the car and then tried to convince himself he was absolutely still mad and in no way concerned about the state she was in as she shuffled bare foot towards the house. By the time she’d stopped in front of him, eyes down, arms hugged around herself, he was almost ready to give up the fight. Almost. Opening his mouth to begin his tirade, and to any strangers looking it would look like a man berating his daughter for staying out all night with two shady layabouts, he shut it again suddenly as he focused on one particular detail and started again.

“What in the hell happened to yer arm?” He kept the concern, which he wasn't ready to cop to just yet, out of his voice, making it sound instead like an accusation. She looked up at him now, head still downcast so her eyes bored up at him through her lashes and Lord have mercy if she wasn't better at looking like a kicked pooch than Sammy was.

“Dean broke it.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, husky with sleep. Bobby’s voice when he responded was, in contrast, loud enough to send a pigeon or two headed for the sky.

“DEAN WINCHESTER!”

Dean physically backed up, putting the car between them.

“I didn't mean to!” He protested.

“Boy, I should beat your sorry ass to Juneau and back! Didn't mean to! Look at her!”

As the yelling went on, Cas looked in alarm at the older man, and then at Dean, who was cowering, Angel powers or not, and then at Sam who to her great surprise was trying not to laugh. With a nod of his head, he gestured to the side of the building. Stepping backwards cautiously, she made it out of the line of fire and followed him to the back door.

As they walked through the house, Sam leaned in and murmured to her.

“He’s forgiven you and he's worried about you, but he won't say it. He’ll tell you to go do something instead.”

“What about Dean?” She whispered back. Sam snorted with laughter.

“For all the threats, Bobby never once raised a hand to us. The worst Dean’ll get is some choice language.”

As they walked into the kitchen, Bobby stomped in from the other side, Dean trailing sheepishly behind him. Cas noted that just as Sam had said, he was completely unhurt. She chanced a look at Bobby.

“Quit makin’ doe eyes at me and go get dressed before you freeze to death!” He snapped at her. “Go on, git!” As she turned to obey, Sam’s snigger was only just audible, but apparently Bobby heard it. “And you, boy! Go shave, you look like a bum!”

“Yes, Sir,” Said Sam, pretending to keep a straight face.

“Quit ‘sir’in me and git!” 

As they ascended the stairs, the muttering continued, although the occasional word or phrase like “kids!” Or “need a damn hidin’!” Could be heard.

“See?” Sam smirked at her. “Family!”


	19. For A Good Time, Just Pray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam demands answers.

Sam sat back and ran his hands through his hair, staring through the heap of books in front of him. In the three days since they'd arrived at Bobby’s, he'd exhausted all but the dregs of what books and the Internet could do for him. Thursday had seen Dean hiding in the safe room, rocking backwards and forwards with his hands over his ears and Cas had taken to appearing briefly and silently to retrieve books in obscure languages and disappear into a spare room as ghostlike as she'd come.

Leaning back to stretch, his foot knocked the table leg, which dislodged a book, causing it to fall to the floor and land half way under the nearby book case. Retrieving it made something rattle, so Sam got down on his knees and peered under the furniture to find the source of the noise. This transpired to be a very nearly full, very familiar bottle of pain meds. He sighed. This was officially so far out of hand it couldn't even be reached. Loath as he was to cause another fight between an increasingly stressed couple, he had only one idea left to get some info, and he needed to be alone when he did it. 

“Dean?” He called, wondering if he was praying or if his brother was in earshot.

“Yeah?” Came an answering shout from the kitchen. 

Sam went and leaned against the kitchen doorframe, bottle hidden in one large hand. Dean had his head on the table, open and untouched bottle of whiskey in front of him.

“Uh…” Sam began. “Look, I don't want to be a snitch or anything, but Cas is kinda hard to talk to these days and…um…”

“Spit it out, Sammy.” It wasn't amused, or an irritated snap, or anything else remotely Dean like. It was just tired and it made Sam hate doing this and more determined at the same time. He held out the bottle.

“Cas hasn't been taking her pain pills. I found them under a bookcase in the study.” He paused. This was genuinely worrying to him, so he went all in. “Come to think of it, I don't think I've seen her eat since we got here, either.”

The only sound was the scrape of the chair as Dean slowly stood. Face set like stone, he took the bottle from Sam and regarded it. Then his eyes unfocused as he presumably searched the ether for Cas and he disappeared.

Certain that Dean would be too wrapped up in Cas’ self neglect to notice and knowing that Bobby was in the tub and likely to be awhile, Sam slipped out of the house and made his way to one of the corrugated iron outbuildings. Working quickly, he painted the relevant sigils on the inside of the walls, drew the circle in holy oil, lit it and mixed up the spell’s ingredients in an old kitchen bowl using the hood of a rusted out Oldsmobile as a table. Quietly, he spoke the incantation and prayed. Nothing. He tried again, a little louder. Nothing. His temper slipped.

“Gabriel!” He snapped. “Quit jerking around!” 

And then the archangel was there, as though he'd always been there. Butt naked. Sam sighed, rolling his eyes up to the cobwebs and birds nests above them.

“Clothes. Now.” He hesitated and then added: “Please.”

“This place has a dress code?”

Sam didn't need to see Gabriel's face to know the shit eating grin it wore. His only reaction was a slight, stubborn setting of his jaw.

“Okiedokie!” He heard and risked looking down. Gabriel was now dressed in an exact replica of his own outfit. He sighed tiredly, deciding to take any clothing as a win.

“So what can I do ya for, handsome?”

Sam got straight to the point.

“What did you do to them?”

“Just a little switcheroo,” came the innocent sounding reply. “A little grace here, a little grace there...”

“Uh huh, got that. And switching them back?”

“A little grace there, a little grace here,” the trickster shrugged. “They’ll figure it out.”

“And if they don't?” Sam's voice made it clear that while he was currently being very, very patient, impatience was just around the bend.

“They'll get used to it. A whole new world!” There was a pause, where Sam silently begged for what was coming not to. “A new fantastic point of view!” Despite the fact that Gabriel had literally the voice of an angel which apparently manifested as a warm, pleasing tenor, Sam cringed. “C’mon! You be Jasmine!” 

“I don't sing,” Sam told him firmly.

“Oh, fine then, I'll be Jasmine.”

As the Angel opened his mouth to burst once again into song, Sam's last nerve jangled.

“Don't you dare!” He snapped, nipping the Disney sing-a-long in the disturbing bud. Holding up his hands in surrender, Gabriel settled for an irritating smirk instead. “Look, Gabriel. You have two choices here. Tell me, and get candy. Don't tell me, I tell Cas you’re here.”

“Candy?” The archangel scoffed. “C’mon, Sammy, you can bribe better than that. I have candy in my pockets. I can pull candy out from behind your ear. Candy is easily obtainable, candy for all!” He threw his hands into the air, creating a shower of skittles and candycorn.

Sam, of course, was prepared for this. From its place on the Oldsmobile, Sam took and held up a family size bag of peanut m and ms.

“But this isn't just any candy,” he said, rattling the bag. “I stole it from Dean. This candy tastes like annoyance and threatened retribution.”

Gabriel's eyebrows shot up, new interest showing on his face.

“That is a little bit more tempting…”

Sam decided to back up the carrot with the stick.

“I'll remind you, holy fire? Not a problem for Cas right now, either.”

“You are aware it's still fire, right? Pretty sure she's still flammable.”

Sam nodded.

“Yeah, but she's creative. And pissed.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Dude, she's so pissed. And soon to be kinda high, which will really only fuel the creativity.”

At that, the Angel burst out laughing.

“I know, right! High Cas is the best!”

In no mood to find out how Gabriel knew this, Sam pressed on.

“So?” He demanded. “Candy or Cas?”

Gabriel appeared to consider this. Sam's hopes rose a little.

“You sound like the hostess at a strip club,”

Sam's feeble hopes were dashed.

“I'll go get her then, shall I?” He turned away, starting for the door.

“Where is she, anyway?”

Sam shrugged, turning back.

“Probably arguing with Dean about how she's starving herself.” He said it neutrally, a little cold and hard and was rewarded with the tiniest flicker of guilt across Gabriel’s face. Bingo.

“You know, you're all missing the point. This is supposed to be a learning opportunity.”

Sam paused.

“You are an _awful_ teacher,” he said. “Just awful.”

The Angel shrugged, conceding the point.

“You ever hear of nephilim, Sam?”

“Of course, they're the children of humans and Angels.” 

“Correctamundo. You know how they feel about them upstairs?”

Sam frowned, thinking back through the bible passages he'd read that week.

“They should be smitten with the sword, and be removed from under heaven."

Gabriel raised his eyebrows.

“Not bad, grasshopper.”

“How is the possibility of Dean and Cas having kids related to switching them?” Sam's temper was wearing thin again.

“Hey, now. Patience. I'll let you in on a little secret.” He Leaned forwards conspiringly. “Fallen angels can't have fledglings. Not worthy. I'll tell ya another secret. They,” he pointed upwards. “Don't give a rat’s fanny. Mating with a human?” He breathed in through pursed lips and tutted, shaking his head. “I've seen Angels have their grace taken for less.”

None of this had occurred to Sam. He'd bet it hadn't occurred to Dean either. But Cas… Cas knew all of this. She knew this and had stayed with them, stuck with Dean, finally seduced him, forgiven him for breaking her arm and was _still here_. Sam found that both terrifying and beautiful.

“Do you think they're in danger?” He managed to ask, pulling himself back to the matter at hand. Again, the Angel shrugged.

“I'm not on the board of directors anymore, Sammy.”

“But they're happy!” He protested. “Or they were until you started driving them insane.”

“Preaching to the choir master, kiddo.”

“So how does this help them?!” Sam demanded, exasperated.

There was a long pause while Gabriel ate a hand full of skittles.

“Cas was always my favourite sibling, y’know. Total stick up the butt, but way nicer than the others.”

“Agreed. What about the spell?” Sam was fast approaching done. Gabriel folded his arms.

“If she thinks your loser brother is worth becoming mortal, I'll believe her. I'll walk her down the aisle. Team Cas all the way. But one of the big reasons I left was free will. She's gotta choose it.”

“She has to decide for herself it's worth losing her grace for Dean?” Sam was starting to see what the Trickster was getting at. “So this is what? A trial run?”

“Kinda. I'm testing him, too, to see what he's willing to give up for her,” he held his hands up defensively. “Not cuz I'm getting all mushy protective, but so they know.” 

“So that's the answer?” Sam pressed. “They have to accept being what they are now to get back to how they were?”

The archangel produced and blew a party blower.

“Top of the class!”

Sam inhaled sharply. 

“They are going to kill you,” he breathed. “They are actually going to rip you to pieces and burn them!”

“I better not be here when they find out, then,” said Gabriel, with a pointed look. “You know I left I hell of a party to be here. Wanna come with?”

“I have to go tell a half starved woman who isn't taking her meds and a new angel who hasn't had a drink in a week that they're stuck until they accept giving up everything they've ever known, but thanks for the invite,” said Sam, dryly. “Besides, I'm fairly sure that partying with you leads to injury, death and mayhem.”

“Hey!” Gabriel looked offended. “Only the mayhem! I'm the best wing man ever!” He grinned, dropping the pretence of umbrage. “Not least cuz I have actual wings. Wanna see?”

Sam sighed. 

“If I put out the fire will you leave?” 

“Not without my retribution candy!”

Sam grabbed a sandbag, threw it on a small area of flame, then tossed the bag of m and ms through the gap for Gabriel to catch.

“Pleasure doing business with ya!” The trickster winked and blew a kiss. “For a good time, just pray!” He disappeared.

“And that may one day be my brother in law,” muttered Sam. “Freakin’ great.”

“I know, right?!” Gabriel reappeared and clapped him on the shoulder. “I'll make us t shirts!” And again, he was gone.

Sam looked at the remaining flames, then back towards the house, dreading the upcoming conversation.

“I don't drink enough for this.”


	20. You Might Wanna Sit Down For This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean takes Cas her pills.

Dean found Cas in one of Bobby’s spare rooms, surrounded by books and intently reading one in what Dead would hazard a guess was Chinese. Pointedly, he firmly put the pill bottle on the book in front of her. She delicately brushed it away, eyes not breaking from the words in front of her.

“No thank you,” 

“This is not optional,” he growled, grabbing the bottle and slamming them back down on the book.

“They say take as required,” she stated, dull and calm, still reading. “I don't require them.”

“You damn well do!”

She moved the bottle again and Dean lost it. He reached forward and slammed the book closed with a bang, making her jump. He reeled his temper in.

“Cas. Look at me.” He gently implored.

Slowly, her eyes travelled up to his.

“If I take them, they turn me into a blithering moron,” she sounded close to tears. “That's time lost when I could be helping us…should be helping you...”

Dean cut her off with a gentle hand on her shoulder, kneeling to bring him face to face with her.

“Sam and Bobby have this,” he said firmly but not sure which of them he was reassuring. “But it's hard for them to stay on it when they’re worried about you.”

As Her face twisted in reluctant acceptance of this, her stomach suddenly growled loudly. She gave no indication of acknowledging it and Dean's eyes narrowed.

“When did you last eat?” He demanded. She looked away but didn't say anything. “Cas, answer the damn question!” He hadn't meant to, but he'd put the warning buzz of approaching planes behind the words.

“In the motel room when Gabriel appeared,” she whispered.

“Damn it, Cas!” He roared, standing and turning away from her. He heard the chair jump backwards and felt the flutter of fear. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself calm again as he turned to face her. “Eating is not a choice.” He told her.

“Listening to the souls of the damned, however, is.” 

The quiet, firm words froze him solid for a moment and he pulled his poker face down like a shutter.

“You assumed Bobby would think you meant a band, didn't you?” She continued.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he rasped, staring steadily at her face. Even as a human, however, Cas could stare like a reptile and Dean cracked, looking away.

“They're so loud,” he muttered.

“They're so nothing that you accidentally overhear,” she said. Dean hated that voice. She wasn't accusing him or berating him, just calmly and non judgementally stating facts. He could with just about anything, but people viciously being reasonable at him always threw him.

“Someone should hear them. Someone should know.”

“Should your sanity be forfeit?” 

There she went again, being all _reasonable_.

“I'm fine,” he snapped, a little too quickly.

“If you are, I am.”

Defeated, Dean sat, slumped against the wall.

“You know why I listen to them, Cas. You were there.”

She came and sat next to him, which really was more comforting than he'd like to admit.

“If I say that forty years in hell was more than enough and forty years more than you deserved you won't believe me, will you?”

He didn't have an answer for that, so he took her hand and held it tight. They sat in silence.

“Dean?” Her quiet voice broke the moment.

“Hmm?”

“I can't feel my fingers.”

“Shit, sorry!” He loosened his grip. “Hey, shut up!” He added as she giggled.

“So, if I promise to turn my ears off will you eat something and take some meds?”

“Nothing dead. And I'll take a half dosage.”

“Deal!” Blurted Dean, relieved there hadn't been more of a fight. “You're wasting perfectly good hunger, though, not having bacon. I'll ask Sammy to rustle up some rabbit food.”

He stood and helped her up, scooping her close for a kiss before turning to open the door.

“Jesus!” He hadn't expected to find Sam, fist raised to knock, face serious.

“I found out how to reverse it. You might wanna sit down for this, guys.”

Five minutes later, he held a weeping Cas close as they listened to Dean destroy pieces of scrap yard.


	21. Empathy Aint No Superpower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or is it? Cas encounters an aspect of humanity she'd rather not and Dean tries a new aspect of being an Angel.

The house was quiet. Peaceful. In the master bedroom Bobby snored softly. Deep in the walls, the wiring hummed and outside in the yard, the rats scuffled about their nightly business. These gentle nocturnal noises combined with the steady thump of Cas’ heart next to him soothed Dean to the closest he'd been to sleep in days. He let his mind wander to pleasant things, enjoying the relaxation and the warmth of his Angel in his arms.

In her sleep, she twisted to release an arm, half waking up with a snuffling sigh which was in no way the cutest thing ever and shaking the circulation awake again. For a split second, as she sat and took the opportunity to scratch an itch, Dean though he caught that iron based smell again, but different. Before he had time to idle over guessing it out, however, the serenity of the world around him shattered into screams. And boy could Cas scream. High pitched and almost cracking the air around her, she just kept going. Screaming. And screaming. If he weren't panicking and riding the adrenaline rush of a sudden scare Dean would have been impressed at how long she could hold her breath. The world descended further into chaos as Dean tried to penetrate her wails with his own yelling, and Sam and Bobby hit their ceilings and ran to find out where the murder was.  
Eventually, someone managed to hit the light revealing Cas, screams finally subsiding to sobs, holding her good hand in front of her with thick, gloopy blood dripping from two of her fingers.

“Shit, Cas! How…” Dean didn't finish his sentence as he frantically started looking for the wound. She batted him away from her stomach , curling in on herself and getting the blood all over Dean’s favourite Van Halen t shirt. In all the commotion, the blanket had been pushed back revealing a seeping smear at her crotch. Eventually, Dean realised that Bobby and Sam's reactions had shifted to sympathetic but not overly concerned noises.

“Why aren't you panicking?” He demanded. “Go find a med kit or something!”

The other men exchanged a look, as though not sure how to explain something.

“What?!” He demanded again. “Small words, quick answers!”

He turned to scan Cas again and then it clicked. The location of the stain, the viscosity of the blood, the way she gingerly cradled her abdomen.

“Ohh,” he realised. Then “Huh.” And finally “Aw man, my shirt!”

According to Sam's level 65 bitchface and the Singer MK3500 Stone Face Glare he was frying under, that was the wrong response. Pointedly turning his attention away from Dean, Sam went to Cas, kneeling by the side of the bed.

“Am I dying?” She sniffled. 

On hearing that, Sam's puppy eyes almost matched hers.

“Cas, no, you're menstruating, that's all. You know what that means?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably at the m-word and was pleased to note that Cas did know what it meant, so there wouldn't have to be any rehashes of a sixth grade health class.

“You must be mistaken, Sam. There's no reason for menstruation –“ Dean cringed again “- to be this messy or upsetting.” She winced suddenly and curled tighter into a ball. “Or painful.”

Dean watched her knuckles tighten in the t shirt.

“Dude, this can't be right, look at how much pain she's in! It's gotta be something evil. It sure ain't normal!”

Bobby snorted at him.

“Boy, that's the light end of normal. First day of Karen’s she couldn't get outta bed! Just had to stay put and spoon a hot water bottle!”

“First one Jess had after changing contraception she spent three days just crying and hurling,” Sam added.

Cas’ sniffling intensified.

“Quit with the horror stories!” Dean snarled, protectively. “You're scaring the warrior of heaven!”

“What was Father thinking?” Cas sobbed, curling up again.

“Women have been asking that very question for centuries,” Sam told her.

Sighing, not getting too close, Dean reached out pat her reassuringly. He didn't think twice when she took his hand until he felt the warm, sticky wetness between their palms.

“Oh, that's just gross!” He yelped, jerking his hand back.

Unfortunately, Cas seemed to take that personally and dissolved fully into tears, wrapping around herself in the foetal position while Sam cranked the bitchface up to level 80 and Bobby broke out the MK5000.

“What the Sam Hill is wrong with you?” The older man demanded, steaming anger like a train.

“Seriously, Dean,” added Sam, voice dripping with disgust.

Dean took a deep breath. Right. Ignore Geezer McCrotchetty and Sammy the Bitch. Focus on Cas, who needs….uh….she needs….well, shit. It was fast occurring to Dean that as a product of an all male family who consistently skipped health class and whose interactions with women lasted a week at most and more usually about six hours he, while able to recite all ten kinds of ghast, fix an internal combustion engine from the ground up and currently able to smite the forces of evil, could not tell you the first fact of feminine biology. Going with something that all the sitcoms seemed to agree on at least, he tried his damnedest.

“Shouldn't we get her…midol and chocolate and girly things?”

Which was apparently not quite enough, although it didn't seem to make matters worse, which was a start.

“Dude, do NOT mix midol with what ever morphine crack the ER gave her,” Sam's advice, on reflection, seemed pretty solid.

“I don't want chocolate. I believe I shall vomit.” Well, she'd know.

“If you mean tampons, boy, say so. Quit pussy-footin',"

Dean sighed. There was an all night pharmacy in Sioux Falls, there were spare clothes Cas could wear and for the sake of peace, he'd let her eat whatever she did or didn't want. He rose and began to dress, pointedly glaring at the other men to make them leave. They did, but not without parting shots.

“Crazy idea, Dean, but you could try being nice,” Sam suggested.

“Empathy ain't no super power, idgit,"

That was enough for Dean. Everyone seemed determined to make an unfortunate fact of nature sound worse than a broken arm, but it wasn't like he had any point of reference to relate to here. He understood Cas a lot better than he was likely to get credit for, but he couldn't just magically feel what she felt…he blinked. Something in the newly installed Angelic part of his brain rang a little bell. He could, couldn't he. One touch and he'd be right there with her. If he pitched it right, maybe he'd even manage to heal the arm with no side effects…

Dropping the t shirt he'd grabbed, he walked over and sat on the bed next to her. She glanced up at him, mournful at first but suspicious when she saw the look on his face.

“Dean, what are you doing?”

“It's okay, don't worry,” he said, reaching out, but she jerked back.

“Dean, whatever you're about to do, don't! Dean…”

Ignoring her, he tenderly touched her forehead, focusing on that beautiful Hey Jude until it filled his world. 

The physical pain hit him first. The twisting, cramping pain deep in his belly and the sharp, wailing ache in his arm. Then the itch of the healing tattoo on his lower back and the feeling of hair falling across his shoulders. The rising heart beat. The vast, yearning emptiness ripping through the soul while the mind was crammed with centuries, aeons, of memories. The fear, the crippling terror of the unknown and of being stuck, of him and for him and somewhere under all that, like a prank birthday candle refusing to be smothered, was how he looked to her. He saw The Righteous Man from the outside, and finally blacked out to the sound of more screaming, although this time it might have been him.


	22. Kumbayah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby fills Dean in when he comes to.

When Dean came round Bobby’s face was, for the second time in recent memory, filling his vision.

“Jesus!”

The whiskers retreated to a more palatable distance, apparently satisfied that Dean was okay.

“You tryinta meet your new brother face to face?”

Dean was in no mood to play guessing games. He pushed himself into a sitting position next to his adoptive father, shoulders groaning about the short stay on the floorboards.

“You wanna try makin’ sense, old man?”

The beard twitched in amusement.

“You keep callin’ his name and he might show up.”

Dean stopped mid stretch to run through the logic.

“Hah, freakin hah,” he grumbled. “What the hell happened?”

Bobby sighed. 

“This is word for word from your sweetie,” he told Dean. “The absolute imbecile opened a link between our souls, causing us to feel everything the other feels. Thank Father he blacked out, cuz it coulda been a lot worse. No one is to touch him until he can control it. He and I are to be completely separated until he can control it. This was between cussin’ and cryin’, ya understand.”

“I did what now?” It made sense, though. He was rubbing his arm and holding his belly even now. “Wait, hey! Imbecile?!”

Bobby snorted.

“I’d’a called ya worse,”

“Well, yeah,” Dean conceded, “but normally I earned it. I was just trying to help!”

Bobby held up his hands placatingly.

“I get that, boy, but she was real rattled. And can ya look me in the eye and swear that you thought it right through?”

“Yes!” Dean snapped, automatically, before meeting the older man’s eyes. “Okay, no, but she was in pain, Bobby! What's the point in dealing with these messed up powers if I can't even help?”

“As I understand, it's cuz her big brother is testin’ ya.” Came the pragmatic response. “Now, she told me how you can get a handle on it. Sam took her into town to get tampons, by the way.” 

Dean cringed briefly at the use of the t-word, which if the glare was anything to go by, didn't go unnoticed.

“So I can fix this, whatever it is?”

“If by fix you mean shut down this link so you don't…” he broke off and gestured vaguely at Dean. “Every time you shake someone’s hand, she says so.”

“This is to everyone? Not just Cas?” Demanded Dean, alarmed.

“Only if’n you touch ‘em,” Bobby explained. “She said it's like you shut down your immune system and now every damn soul can get in. To only do it when you want to, ya gotta practice ‘til you can switch it off, like the ears.”

“Right,” Dean nodded. “That makes sense I guess.”

“So she said you gotta go find that tree you made.”

Dean frowned.

“The one in the middle of goddamn nowhere?”

“That's the one, boy. Why?” Sarcasm suddenly gleamed in the veteran’s voice. “Flyin’ there gonna take a long time?”

“You think I remember where we were? I was a bit busy with the twigs up my ass!”

Bobby shrugged in concession of the point.

“She and Sam worked it out as a half mile from the tattoo parlour in the direction of the motel.”

“Okay, so I go there and do what?”

“You use the damn tree to get a handle on soul links!” The older hunter said it as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Trees have souls?” Asked Dean, to whom it was not.

“Boy, you inflicted a world of hurt on her shoving all your crap through this damn link, so quit askin’ stupid questions and do as she damn well says. I don't care if she'd said you get over acquainted with a knothole, you do it!”

Wow. So Bobby really did see Cas as one of his own. Dean held up his hands in surrender.

“I was just askin’! That's all she said to do, just kumbayah at the tree?”

He got a curt nod in reply.

“Okay,” he said, standing. He turned to help Bobby up, but withdrew his hand and retreated under the force of the glare, which somehow communicated “oh, hell, no!” And “ain't you been listenin’?!” at the same time. “I'll, uh, just go hug nature then.”

“And keep your ears on, it's been too damn quiet since the ambush at the motel.” 

Dean had been thinking much the same thing.

 

*** *** ***

 

A short while later, Dean sat with his back against the tree and his eyes closed. It had been weird at first, feeling the slow rush of sap through his legs and the wind rustle his hair like leaves. He'd only stuck at it because the thought of never touching anyone, especially   
Cas, without unleashing madness was unbearable. After a while though, it had become peaceful and he could see why she’d recommended it. Trees don't feel physical pain, or sadness, or fear, or any of the crap that sentient animals feel. It was a damn good tree, too, if he said so himself. 

When he could touch the rough bark without falling straight into the green-light-wind-earth soul, for want of a better word, of the oak, he'd sat. This…this he might miss. Not enough to forgo being alone in his own head again, but…yeah. This was a definite plus to angelic life.

“Dean!” Cas’ voice, rich and high with pain and ending in a scream that flooded him with ice, shot through him so suddenly he leapt to feet, looking around for her. Before he could process that he was still alone with the tree, Sam's voice hit him.

“Dean! It's Crowley. He's got Cas.”


	23. Worth It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley comes for pay back for the vision.

Following the increasingly distressing screams and Sammy’s frantic praying, Dean left the tree and found himself in a parking lot. 

“Oh, look, a flying squirrel!” Crowley greeted him.

By the looks of things, Sam and Cas had been leaving the nearby pharmacy and Crowley had jumped them on the way back to the car, keeping Sam (who was grimly gripping the Angel Blade) at bay with the threat of Cas’ instant death. Standing next to Sam, Dean swallowed dry as he took in the sight before him.

Cas’ face was bleeding, swollen and bruised. Blood was dripping from her nose, lips and one of her ears. Her breathing was shallow rattling gasps and one of her legs was twisted just slightly the wrong way. Dean could feel the pain pouring out of her. Crowley had one hand tight around her neck, reaching up to keep her bare toes scrabbling for purchase on the asphalt. His other hand was wrapped around the cast, tight enough to crack it. No small amount of her pain appeared to be coming from there. Angels don't feel nausea, for which Dean was grateful in that moment. The pitiful, tortured husk of Cas in front of him would definitely make him physically sick if it could. He grit his teeth.

“Let. Her. Go.” He growled, his voice rumbling like a tank engine. “-Now!-“ 

The last word sounded like cannon fire, and he felt Sam flinch. Crowley remained unmoved. Cas tried to mumble something, cut off by Crowley squeezing the cast and eliciting a low, sobbing moan from her. He quirked a smile.

“That only works on humans, you badly dressed moron. I came to torture you a little as recompense for that vision she sent, but since some idiot turned you into an angel, I found a far greater opportunity.” He looked up at Cas, admiring his work. “I’ll make a deal to change you back on the standard terms.”

Dean sneered. Cas spat blood in Crowley’s face, defiance evaporating into a gurgling attempt at a scream as he crushed the cast in retaliation. With a rush of wings, Dean surged forward to intervene but Crowley was ready, thrusting Cas in font of him like a shield. 

“Careful, Squirrel. I will kill her.”

Before Dean could respond an odd, hissing gurgling sound bubbled from Cas’ bloody lips. With a shock that turned his stomach, he realised she was laughing.

“Take…you…with me…” She gasped, before starting the guttural opening syllables of a Sumerian exorcism.

“That's my girl.”

This time, Crowley cut off her words with a sharp kick to the clearly broken leg. The sound she made broke Dean’s heart.

“You know if I do kill her you'll be stuck for ever?”

“Good move, douchebag. Make an immortal Winchester and give him reason to see how far he can rampage through your shitty kingdom.”

“I'm serious!” This didn't seem to be going to Crowley’s plan. “You'll be stuck for eternity knowing that anyone you care for is mortal and you're not! And she _will_ die human!

Dean locked eyes with Cas, and looked into her heart. 

“Worth it,” she whispered. He nodded.

As Crowley shook her again, she slumped forwards suddenly, nearly dragging him down. Dean stumbled and Sam lunged forwards, just catching him. Reeling from the sudden and intense sense of loss, he heard a familiarly deep voice warn

“Close your eyes,”

Before Sam's hand clamped over the top half of his face and the world exploded into noise and white light. Sam's soul, his own, hers, the aching pit of silence where Crowley's should have been, the brightness, even through his brother’s hand the light was unbearable. And suddenly, it wasn't. Silence roared over them, and Dean blacked out again.


	24. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this, guys! There are plans in the works for the further adventures of Dean and Cas' love, so stayed tuned! Comments and kudos always appreciated! Xx

In the once more peaceful darkness of Bobby’s home, Dean slept. With the sudden loss of Cas’ grace his human body had revolted in outrage of its recent treatment. Upon waking up in the back of the Impala as it pulled into the driveway he had demanded “all the food ever, right now, starting with a cheeseburger and a chocolate shake” but had settled for wolfing down half a loaf of bread, half a left over rotisserie chicken and three pints of water. He'd actually fallen asleep at the kitchen table, from whence Cas had removed him to a bed. She'd returned looking much more her old self, if somewhat surlier, and advised them that Crowley had fled so deep into Hell that even she couldn't track or follow him.

In the parking lot earlier when Sam had dared to open his eyes it had been to see her climbing to her feet, slowly and with purpose, while the electric lights of the pharmacy and parking lot had sputtered and crackled and the wind rose around them. Maybe it was the odd shadows they were casting and maybe not, but Sam could see the shapes of wings and a shadow that stretched away into the blackness as though of someone much, much taller than a human. She was staring at Crowley in a way that made Sam very nervous. 

_“You can murder Crowley as much as you want when you get your wings back,”_ he heard himself say. There was a sudden explosion of confetti and streamers, which introduced a jubilant Gabriel.

“Loki?” Crowley looked utterly confused and Sam made a point to remember this potential Ace up their sleeves.

**“You will assist Sam and Dean. I will deal with you later.”**

Castiel’s voice was felt through the ground rather than heard and Sam had definitely not squeaked in an unmanly fashion at the rage it contained. Holding his hand up in a gesture of compliance and surrender, Gabriel had backed away slowly from her and sat next to Sam, offering him popcorn from a bucket that appeared out of nowhere. He'd then sighed in disappointment as Crowley had disappeared in an instant and Cas had followed not with the customary rustle but a near deafening clap of air as she brought her wings down hard. Before Gabriel could speak, Sam cut him off.

“Don't. Just don't. Help me get him in the car and get out of here before he wakes up and tries to kill you.”

Much to his relief, Gabriel had obliged.

“I'll give ‘em a couple decades to cool off,” he'd said. “Remember, though…”

“Yeah. For a good time just pray.”

With a mock salute, the archangel had vanished.

In the once again peaceful darkness, Cas sat on the bed next to the sleeping Dean and let the much missed sounds wash over her, soothing as rain on a window pane. After a while, she rose, walked silently through the house to the lounge and picked up the open bag of M and Ms, considering it carefully. With the manner of a woman conducting a delicate and important experiment, she took a single piece of candy from the bag, placed it into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“Hmm.”


End file.
